


Lack of Foresight

by amp_rs_nd



Series: Lack of Foresight: the Series! [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Failed Ritual, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Martin Blackwood's Poetry, Most of the Entities will probably show up at some point, No beta we kayak like Tim, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poetry, Rated T for swearing, Screenplay/Script Format, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Somewhat Martin-centric, Spoilers for Episode: e160 The Eye Opens (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28680903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amp_rs_nd/pseuds/amp_rs_nd
Summary: ISAIAHMartin, you should know… being holed up in your little cabin won’t save you forever. You’ve been here for, what, five weeks now? Two weeks ago, the world could have ended. But, it didn’t. And now, everyone wants a grab at the Archivist.MARTINBut… why? What do they want with him, what— what would they have to gain?ISAIAHI dunno, really. It might be because of anger, might be for revenge, might be for something different entirely. The point is, the Archivist is like an elastic waiting to snap. He’s got all this potential energy. One thing sets him off… there’s no telling what he could be capable of.Elias’ ritual fails, and Jon and Martin allow themselves to breathe again. But the more time passes, the more horrible things rear their heads… and the more dangers Martin takes upon himself to keep them from reaching the Archivist.Between impending threats to the safehouse, a consistent flow of statements and archaic poetry, and an ocean of unknowns, there is only so much you can do.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Original Male Character(s), Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Lack of Foresight: the Series! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2143332
Comments: 97
Kudos: 173





	1. The Eye Opens (And Then Closes Again)

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, hello! This is my first time posting to AO3, and my first time writing fanfiction in four or so years. I have no idea what I'm doing here but I'll make it work.
> 
> Second: this was originally inspired by this Tumblr post (https://mysticmallows.tumblr.com/post/639811135754944512/65binary-mr-utterson-catboyhyde-i-wanna-know), but has taken off from there. 
> 
> Third: I have some ideas for multiple chapters, although I can't promise whether or not I'll get to posting them. I'm pretty comfortable writing in transcript format so hopefully this will stick, but I don't want to make any promises.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you guys think <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Watcher's Crown Take 1: A failed attempt, and the aftermath.

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]  
[CLICK]

**ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)**

You are prepared. You are ready. You are _marked_. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, Jon. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now. _(Cruel, cruel laugh)_ Repeat after me.

[THE STATIC RISES ONLY SLIGHTLY.]

_You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and drink in all that is not yours by right._

**Come to us in your wholeness.**

**_Come to us in your perfection._ **

_Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and **dies**!_

**_Come to us._ **

_**I — OPEN — THE DOOR!** _

[HEAVY, OPPRESSIVE SILENCE. THE ARCHIVIST HOLDS HIS BREATH.]  
[THE SOUND OF PAGES BEING FLIPPED AND RUSTLED AROUND. THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS.]

 _(Shaken)_ Well, then.

[CLATTERING AS HE FUMBLES WITH THE TAPE RECORDER.]

What was all _that_ for, Jonah?

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE, SOME TIME LATER]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[A GENTLE KNOCK AGAINST A DOOR FRAME: A COUGH.]

**MARTIN**

Hey, I’m back.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(With a start)_ Oh, thank God.

[CLATTERING; A CHAIR SCRAPES AGAINST THE FLOOR.]

**MARTIN**

Wh— Jon?

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin…

[SOMEONE MAKES AN ‘OOMPH’ SOUND. FABRIC RUSTLES]

**MARTIN**

Jon, what is this? Did something happen?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Shaky breath)_ Er, well… no. But also… yes, sort of? I-it’s—

**MARTIN**

_(Concerned)_ You’re shaking…

**ARCHIVIST**

Am I? O-oh. _(Breathy laughter)_ I hadn’t noticed.

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping)_ Please sit down, Jon. Here, I-I’ll guide you.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Sheepish)_ Martin…

**MARTIN**

_(Adamant)_ No, Jon. Sit.

[HEAVY SIGH. LIGHT FOOTSTEPS, THEN THE CREAKING SOUND OF COUCH SPRINGS COMPRESSING.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST BREATHES DEEPLY.]

**MARTIN**

Better?

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, I-I think so. Thank you.

**MARTIN**

Of course. Now, wh-what’s up, Jon? Did- did something happen? Was it the, the statement?

**ARCHIVIST**

Y… yes. But I’m afraid it wasn’t… really a _statement_? More like a… monologue, I guess. _(Heavy sigh)_ It… it was bad.

**MARTIN**

Oh. Okay. _(Cautious)_ Can I… see it?

**ARCHIVIST**

Yeah, yeah, it’s just on the desk. _But—_ I would really prefer you not bring it over here. _(Small)_ Please.

**MARTIN**

_(Sympathetic)_ …Sure, Jon.

[HEAVY FOOTSTEPS, THEN THE SHUFFLING OF PAPERS. A SHARP INHALE.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Just— just skim it.

[MORE PAPER FLIPPING. THE MOVEMENTS GROW MORE AND MORE FRANTIC AS IT CONTINUES.]

**MARTIN**

…Oh, my God.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yeah.

**MARTIN**

That’s… a _lot_.

[A FINAL SHUFFLE AS THE PAPERS ARE SET BACK DOWN. FOOTSTEPS RETREAT BACK FROM WHERE THEY CAME. COMPRESSING SPRINGS ON THE COUCH AGAIN.]

**MARTIN**

…Are you alright, Jon?

**ARCHIVIST**

Huh? Oh, y-yeah, yes, I’ve got a bit of… _(sigh) statement fatigue_ , but it’s nothing unusual. I-

**MARTIN**

_(Interrupting)_ No, no no. I mean, yeah that’s… good, I guess, but. How are you _feeling_?

[A BRIEF SILENCE, THEN AN AFFRONTED SCOFF.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Um, bad? What do you want me to say? You think I’m, jumping for joy, or, or absolutely _gutted_ that it didn’t work?! I, I, I don’t see much of a point in _asking_ —

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping) Okay_ , okay, right. Sorry, bad question. And… not really the time, either, I guess.

[THEY BOTH SIGH.]

**ARCHIVIST**

…Right. _(A disbelieving laugh.)_

**MARTIN**

_(Heavy exhale)_ We don’t need to talk about it right now, though we should eventually. But you look… _really_ tired.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Soft)_ …I am.

**MARTIN**

We should just go to bed. I, I’m tired too, honestly. Could go for a nap.

**ARCHIVIST**

I don’t know… it’s not even three yet.

**MARTIN**

So? _(Lightly)_ When’s that ever stopped you? Don’t even try to pretend you have a real sleep schedule, I _know_ you don’t.

[THE ARCHIVIST LAUGHS.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, you got me there.

[SHIFTING FABRIC AND MORE CREAKY SPRINGS]

**MARTIN**

Come on, let’s go have a lie-down. We can talk about _all this_ later, okay?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Quiet)_ Okay.

**MARTIN**

Good.

[THE SPRINGS CREAK AGAIN. THE ARCHIVIST GRUNTS WITH THE EFFORT.]

**MARTIN**

Oh. Why is the tape running?

**ARCHIVIST**

What? I, I don’t- oh.

[FOOTSTEPS.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Hm. That’s… huh.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit at the beginning is torn straight from the episode 160 transcript, by the way.


	2. Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin discuss Elias' letter and theorize on what it could mean for them going forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, the tonal shift within this chapter is pretty drastic. Be prepared to start with the fluff and end with the angst.

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[THERE IS THE FAINT TWITTERING OF BIRDS AND A LIGHT BREEZE, AS IF FILTERING THROUGH AN OPEN WINDOW. A WIND CHIME TWINKLES FAINTLY IN THE BACKGROUND.]  
[SCRAPING AS A CHAIR IS PULLED BACK, THEN THE DISTINCTIVE THUMP OF TWO CUPS ONTO A TABLE.]  
[A HEAVY SIGH.]

**MARTIN**

O-kay. Do you really think you’re ready for this?

[A BEAT.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Honest)_ I don’t know. Are you?

**MARTIN**

_Wh—_ I’m not the one who was forced against his will to perform a _world-ending ritual_! _(Softer)_ I’ll be fine, Jon, really. But I don’t want you getting too involved in a discussion you’re not ready for. Are you sure it isn’t too soon?

**ARCHIVIST**

I’ll be— _(tired sigh)_ I’ll be _fine_ , Martin, at least, I-I think. The, the sleeping did help. I don’t want to waste too much time just sitting around; we have no idea what to expect next.

**MARTIN**

Taking time to _recover_ is _hardly_ a waste of time, but alright.

**ARCHIVIST**

I— _(Surrendering)_ You’re, you’re right, but… Let’s just get this out of the way first.

**MARTIN**

Okay.

[THE CLEARING OF A THROAT; THE CLICK OF A PEN.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Jovial, aggressively sarcastic) So_. Your evil boss manipulated you into bringing on the apocalypse! What do you do?

**MARTIN**

_(Quiet, but firm and warning) Jon_.

[A COUGH.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Right. S-sorry. This _is_ serious, yes.

[A BEAT.]

Okay. So… it looks like the Watcher’s Crown — the ritual for the Eye — is reliant on the Archivist to set everything into motion. _Jonah_ seems to believe that by getting the Archivist in contact with every entity, then having the Archivist recite an incantation, all the entities would be able to pass the threshold and into our world.

**MARTIN**

Huh. O-okay, okay, sure. But, uh, _why_ , exactly, is that required? Haven’t all the other rituals we’ve heard of been just the one entity and none others? What’s the benefit in having all of them?

**ARCHIVIST**

Uh… hmm, I, I think there was some analogy I came up for it a while back, when I spoke to Gerry about the entities. Let’s see… oh, yes, “Like colours, but if they hated me.”

[MARTIN SNORTS.]

**MARTIN**

_(Amused)_ Really?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(The smile is audible in his tone.)_ Yes, _really_ , and I swear it does make sense.

[THE SOUND OF PEN SCRATCHING ON PAPER DRAWLS IN THE BACKGROUND.]

See, it’s sort of like— like how humans have categorized the colours they see into easily digestible categories. Oh, this is blue and this is also blue, but pink and red are different. That’s an analogy for Smirke’s fourteen, the categorizations of fear, that is. But, but at the base of all of that, despite all of the socially accepted categorizations, the colours exist as one big… one big, uh, _thing_. At their core, they’re just _colours_. And, and they fit in sort of, sort of a— a _wheel_. Pink blends to red blends to orange blends to yellow blends to—

[THE ARCHIVIST AND HIS WRITING IS INTERRUPTED BY MARTIN’S LAUGHTER.]

_(Confused, and a bit offended)_ What? Wh-what is it, did I say something—

**MARTIN**

Oh! No, no, Jon! It’s just, it, it’s really cute when you do that.

**ARCHIVIST**

Do _what_?

**MARTIN**

_(Delighted)_ The big explanations! You just— you wave your hands around, and, and you just get all excited, and your face does this _adorable_ little thing, with, with the _nose_ —

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Fond, feigning irritation)_ This is _entirely_ off topic.

**MARTIN**

_(Not sorry at all)_ Sorry, sorry. Keep on, I won’t interrupt again. I _promise_.

[THE ARCHIVIST HUFFS.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Playful)_ Right. Well, did you at _least_ hear what I was saying, _Martin_?

**MARTIN**

Yes, _Jon_ , of _course_. Colours are evil, and we need all of them to end the world. Got it.

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, that’s _hardly_ all there is to it, but—

[THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS, LIKELY DUE TO SOME NON-VERBAL EXPRESSION OF MARTIN’S.]

Yes, yes, alright, yes. That is _one_ way to see it.

**MARTIN**

And you’re meant to be the colour wheel.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Baffled)_ I— what?

**MARTIN**

Uh, yeah, that’s right, isn’t it? You’ve got every colour at this point, I think.

[MARTIN LAUGHS AT THE ARCHIVIST’S BAFFLEMENT.]

_(Stage whispering)_ I’m going with the analogy, Jon, be cool!

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh! Uh, hmm, yes! Y-yes, then, I guess then I would be the colour wheel.

**MARTIN**

_(Smiling) Dazzling_.

[THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS, BUT IT’S FOND.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Alright. So, _anyways_ — the colour wheel is only one half of the ritual. The other is the incantation. Oh, I-I’m sorry, Martin, but I don’t think we can fit that into our analogy.

**MARTIN**

_(Joking) Drat_. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes. So, um, the problem is, I’m not so sure what it is about the incantation that’s supposed to make it work? Most of the statement was just theatrical villainous gloating, and the only part I would think would have any effect is, well…

**MARTIN**

What is it?

**ARCHIVIST**

Er… Okay, I think I’m going to make another analogy, but you aren’t going to like it.

**MARTIN**

Um… what? Wait, why…

**ARCHIVIST**

The last part, the _real_ incantation, it’s just— it’s essentially just words made to sound pretty. Sort of like… like poetry.

**MARTIN**

…Okay? Yeah, that’s kind of the point of poetry, Jon.

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, yes, but with poetry, the meaning sort of gets lost in the wording. The words don’t hold any, any _real power_. Because they’re just— they’re just _words_.

[A BEAT.]  
[MARTIN BREAKS OUT LAUGHING.]

**MARTIN**

What?! Jon, you’re an English major, aren’t you?! I would have thought you’d have more respect for the language!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(A scoff)_ Language is _pointless_ , Martin! And, before you get all defensive, I did, in fact, learn that at school! Secondary, even. It’s, uh, it’s a form of Modernism, I think it’s called. It’s about the deconstruction of reality, or, or something. Language is a conduit for our experiences, a meagre way to try to translate them into something digestible, so nowhere near as powerful as the experiences themselves.

**MARTIN**

O-kay? I mean, I can sort of see where you’re coming from, but at _least_ leave me and my poetry be. We never did anything to wound you!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Teasing)_ Well…

**MARTIN**

Oh, hush, you scoundrel.

[THEY BOTH LAUGH.]

_(Amused)_ Why do we just keep getting sidetracked?!

**ARCHIVIST**

It’s _al_ right! I will admit that you have been _very_ distracting.

**MARTIN**

Oh! Um… sorry?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Positively gleeful)_ No, you’re a _good_ distraction. Trust me.

**MARTIN**

_(Spluttering)_ J-Jon! You can’t just— _say_ things like that when we’re trying to figure out how to keep the _world_ from ending!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Fake innocence)_ Why not?

[THEY BOTH DEVOLVE BACK INTO GIGGLES.]

**MARTIN**

_(Breathless)_ Sorry, sorry—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Overlapping)_ No, no, no, it’s—

[THE ARCHIVIST EVENS HIS BREATHING.]

Um, _any_ ways…

**MARTIN**

No, er, no, yes, yes, go on, go on.

**ARCHIVIST**

My _point_ there, with the language thing, is that— I-I honestly don’t think the incantation is _good_ enough for Beholding.

**MARTIN**

Oh… really?

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes. I, uh, I’ve actually been thinking about it a lot—

**MARTIN**

—Instead of sleeping, like you _should_ have been—

**ARCHIVIST**

—And it, it makes so much _sense_. It’s pretty obvious, in hindsight, because, well— Martin, when you read a statement. What is it like?

**MARTIN**

Hm? Oh, well, the severity can fluctuate case-to-case, but you _feel_ that person’s fear. You feel it like you were in their shoes when they were there.

**ARCHIVIST**

_Exactly_. It's all about the feeling, which in this case is a decidedly supernatural channeling of the experience. So the actual effect — what ends up taking a toll, what ended up changing me — has nothing to do with the words themselves. Like I said before, they’re just _words_.

[MARTIN HUMS IN THOUGHT.]

**MARTIN**

But Jonah’s letter was close enough to a statement, right? Down to the format and everything. You even said that you got into your statement-mode while you were reading.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, yes, sure, but the formatting isn’t all of it. Remember, it wasn’t _technically_ a statement…? It was essentially a, a victory monologue, and there’s not a lot of _raw, unbridled fear_ in that.

**MARTIN**

…Huh.

**ARCHIVIST**

And, and back to the ‘language not doing Beholding justice’ point… statement forms and tapes, they’re, they’re entirely human inventions, conduits for the Eye’s power. But for, f-for something as intense and involved as letting _all fourteen entities_ into the world all at once, there’s only so far those conduits can take you. The People’s Church had a mass of, of impossible darkness that killed upon looking at it, the Circus went the spirituality route and orchestrated a dance, a, a _performance_ to get through to their god. Why should we have to do anything less?

**MARTIN**

That… that makes a lot of sense, actually.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Satisfied) There_! That’s it, then. No, no attempt at a ritual can touch us where we are now.

[THE CHAIR SQUEAKS WITH A SHIFT IN POSTURE.]

_(Impossibly soft and hopeful)_ We’re _safe_ , Martin.

[SILENCE DRAWS ON, WORRYINGLY SO.]  
[FINALLY, MARTIN DOES A DEEP, SHARP INHALE.]

**MARTIN**

Jon…

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin…?

[MARTIN SIGHS.]

**MARTIN**

Look, I _know_ how much you want this, how much you _need_ this. This, this promise of safety, o-of comfort.

[THE CHAIR CREAKS AGAIN.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Of _course_ I do. You don’t?

**MARTIN**

_God_ , Jon, _no_ , of _course_ I do, this just seems so… _(A pained laugh)_ it feels _way too easy_.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Dejected) Martin…_

**MARTIN**

Be-besides, even if— let’s say the paper-conduit thing never, _ever_ works for Jonah. Which, by the way, we don’t know for sure yet whether that method is fully debunked or not. But e-e-even if that is the case. There’s _absolutely nothing_ stopping him from just— hopping on the next train up North and paying us a-a surprise visit! Then the conduit thing wouldn’t matter!

**ARCHIVIST**

I mean, I _guess_ , but…

**MARTIN**

But _what_ , Jon?! Of the two of us, you’re the over-thinker, which is what’s making this conversation all the more baffling for me. Of _course_ I want to be hopeful, Jon, of _course_ I do, that’s my job! But w-we also… at some point, a line needs to be drawn between what we can hope for and what we can reasonably expect. Jonah could probably find us here, there’s nothing stopping him.

[THE SILENCE STRETCHES ON.]

_(Quieter)_ ...I, I’m sorry, Jon. I _know_ it’s good to hope, I _know_ that’s what you need right now, but…

**ARCHIVIST**

No… no, you’re right, Martin. God, you’re right, as always. _(A sad chuckle)_ I suppose I did get… carried away, it’s just…

[THE ARCHIVIST SNIFFS. THE CHAIR SQUEAKS AGAIN.]

_(Wet and desperate)_ I’m so damn _tired_ of _running_ , Martin. Of running and hiding.

[MARTIN SIGHS.]

**MARTIN**

_(Gentle)_ I know. I’m sorry.

**ARCHIVIST**

No, don’t… don’t apologize for that…

[THE ARCHIVIST HEAVES OUT A CHEST-WRACKING SOB.]

**MARTIN**

_…Oh_. Oh, Jon…

[A CHAIR SCRAPING AGAINST THE FLOOR.]

Come here.

**ARCHIVIST**

I’m so sorry, Martin…

**MARTIN**

Jon… oh, Jon…

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, an American, physically struggling every time I had to write "colour" with a "u" this chapter
> 
> Anyways, I'm sure the mental gymnastics I went through to explain why Jonah's letter didn't work for the ritual don't make much sense (especially considering that it /did/ work in canon), but at least any inconsistencies can be written off as J&M being desperate to find reassurance of their safety.
> 
> BONUS: Here are some messy doodles I did of that last scene: https://www.instagram.com/p/CJ61Hp-MOGv/?igshid=1xym86gub1vul


	3. A Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin checks in with Basira and receives a special delivery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Martin-centric chapter because I love him! Also, Basira (I am not confident in my ability to write her properly but that doesn't mean I won't try)!

[EXT. SCOTLAND, A ROAD NEARBY THE SAFEHOUSE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[THERE IS THE DISTINCTIVE SOUND OF CRUNCHING GRAVEL AND GUSTING WIND.]  
[MARTIN IS BREATHING HEAVILY.]

**MARTIN**

_Whew_. I dunno why this walk always gets me, it’s just a couple miles.

[HE MAKES A STARTLED LITTLE NOISE.]

Oh! Uhh, hello, there. Funny seeing _you_ again.

[HE SIGHS.]

Yeah, it’s just me this time. That’s— that’s kind of interesting, actually, I think the last time you manifested just for me alone was… was back at the Institute. You know, um… before.

[A COW MOOS FAINTLY IN THE BACKGROUND. MARTIN CHUCKLES.]

You’re _really_ not missing anything. I’m just heading down to the post office. Given what happened to Jon a few days back, I doubt I’ll actually be picking anything up. I _don’t_ want to risk something again, no matter how safe Jon thinks we are here. There _is_ a phone box just outside, though, which is mostly why I’m totally _shredding_ my lungs going up this hill.

[A LENGTHY PAUSE.]

 _(Muttered)_ I really hope it doesn’t rain soon. The floorboards might start rotting if I keep tracking water into the house.

[A THOUGHTFUL ‘HMM’; THEN A SHARP INHALE, A REALIZATION.]

 _Oh_. Since when has it been the house? _The_ house, I mean, not just _a_ house, or _Daisy’s_ house. That’s sort of— that’s sort of nice. _(Softly)_ It has a nice ring to it. A nice— mouth feel? Eurgh, that just sounds _weird_ , but, I mean, it’s _true_.

[MORE SILENCE. THE GRAVELLY SOUND FADES TO FAINT CLOPPING FOOTSTEPS ON COBBLESTONE.]

Oh! I totally forgot you were here. Er, sorry. I-I’m just about — _(a grunt)_ Oof, sorry, that was a big step up — Anyways, I’m about to call Basira, and no offense, but I think I’ve had enough of being watched for one lifetime already, so if you could just… Dematerialize, or, something?

[NOTHING SAVE FOR THE SOUND OF TAPE WHIRRING AND A SUBDUED BREEZE.]

No? _(a sigh)_ Alright, _fine_ , you can stay. For now.

[A DOOR CREAKS OPEN AND CLOSED.]  
[THE NATURAL SOUNDS ARE MUFFLED NOW.]  
[FABRIC RUSTLES.]  
[MARTIN HUFFS.]

I’m gonna put you down now. Do _not_ move out of my line of sight, or else I’ll… I’ll… _(Quickly)_ I dunno, just— _don’t_.

[A CLACK AS THE TAPE IS SET DOWN.]  
[A HEAVY CLUNK, THEN TINNIER CLICKING SOUNDS.]  
[THE PHONE RINGS TWICE.]  
[ANOTHER CLICK.]

Hey, Basira.

[WHEN BASIRA SPEAKS, HER VOICE IS SLIGHTLY DISTORTED DUE TO THE CONNECTION.]

**BASIRA**

_(Flat)_ Martin.

**MARTIN**

So… how are you?

**BASIRA**

Fine. I’m managing. Things have settled, but police still won’t leave me alone. You got the statements I sent up?

**MARTIN**

Hmm. Uhh, yeah, about that…

**BASIRA**

Were they all real? Were they even _statements_? I didn’t look closely at what I sent, sort of just— swept some important-looking papers into a folder and sent them your way.

**MARTIN**

Uh, yeah, yeah I think they were? Although I honestly haven’t taken a good look at most of them.

[BASIRA SIGHS.]

Jon and I… we seriously cannot thank you enough for sending the statements. Really. It’s helped him a lot, knowing he doesn’t have to take live statements right now. Lukas was his latest, and after that the idea alone has been sending him into fits.

**BASIRA**

_(More sincere)_ Right. Well, thank you. I appreciate that. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to do it, but I do want to help.

**MARTIN**

_Thank you_. That means a lot.

**BASIRA**

Yeah.

[A BEAT.]

Sooo… did you have a problem?

**MARTIN**

Oh, r-right, the, the statements. State _ment_. Hm.

**BASIRA**

…Did something happen?

**MARTIN**

Uh, yeah, sort of. Well, you— you’ve heard about the Watcher’s Crown, right? The Eye’s ritual.

**BASIRA**

Sounds familiar. Jon must have mentioned it at some point. That was the one Magnus tried way back when, right?

**MARTIN**

_(Slow, drawn-out)_ Yeah. Well…

**BASIRA**

I’d be surprised if there were more than one statement about it. It obviously failed anyway.

[SILENCE.]

Martin?

**MARTIN**

I wish it was that simple, I _really_ do. But this was… it was different.

**BASIRA**

…What does that mean?

**MARTIN**

Well… _(a sigh)_ The statement sort of… _was_ the ritual, pretty much.

[A BEAT.]

**BASIRA**

What?

**MARTIN**

Yeah, yeah, it was, um, an incantation of some kind. And Jon had to read it out loud.

**BASIRA**

Oh. _Shit_. Well, what did you do with it?

**MARTIN**

O-oh, um, I, I burned it. Seemed the safest option.

[BASIRA MAKES A ‘WHOOF’ NOISE AS SHE BREATHES OUT.]

**BASIRA**

Yeah, probably. Well, that’s… that’s not a _great_ sign.

**MARTIN**

Well, it’s not _all_ bad, actually? At least now we actually know what Jonah’s plans have been this whole time, and the ritual didn’t even work right, so, so it’s okay.

[A BEAT.]

Apparently it was sort of anti-climactic? It was mostly dramatic villainous monologuing and explanations, just to fall flat at the end. I was out at the time, so I don’t know for sure just how ballsy Jonah’s message was, but—

**BASIRA**

_(Overlapping)_ Sorry. Jon _read_ the _world-ending fear statement?_

**MARTIN**

_(Innocently)_ Yes, yes he did!

[A BEAT.]

 _Ooh_ , okay, I see how that sounds, b-but it’s okay, obviously, don’t worry! Nothing—

**BASIRA**

_(Overlapping)_ Martin, What the hell?! How is this ‘okay’?!

[MARTIN SIGHS, EXASPERATED.]

**MARTIN**

Nothing really _happened_ , alright? It, it failed, and at least now we know more than we did before.

**BASIRA**

_Why did he read the statement? (Accusing)_ He knew what he was doing.

**MARTIN**

What? O-oh, oh, no, he didn’t read it on _purpose, God_ no! Or, or voluntarily, either. Apparently.

**BASIRA**

…O-kay.

**MARTIN**

Right, um, sorry, I know this is a lot to take in—

**BASIRA**

_Yeah,_ it is. I… I’ll lay off on the details for now. _(A sigh)_ You’re both okay, though?

**MARTIN**

Um, for the most part… yes. It’s been… a lot to handle. But like I said earlier, we were able to learn from it. We… we’re feeling a little better, about everything? A little less out of our depth regarding Jonah’s plans. I wouldn’t say we’re feeling _assured_ , not at _all_ , but at least it’s a step in the right direction.

**BASIRA**

Okay. Well… I’m glad. I guess I would have known pretty quickly if you had started the apocalypse.

**MARTIN**

Yeah.

[THEY LULL INTO A COMFORTABLE SILENCE.]

 _(Carefully)_ Have you… sent any more statements since our last call?

**BASIRA**

Yes. I figured I may as well, since we don’t know how long you’ll need to be up there.

**MARTIN**

And did you happen to take a look at what you grabbed?

**BASIRA**

_(A sigh)_ Unfortunately, no. I went through all the same motions as last time.

[MARTIN GROANS.]

Sorry, I would have been more careful if I’d known about—

**MARTIN**

—No, I know, it’s… _(sigh)_ It’s okay. I mean, at least the mail truck doesn’t reach the safe house, it’s too far out. If we want to avoid any more statements for the time being, it shouldn’t be too difficult.

**BASIRA**

That’s true.

[A LONG, AWKWARD SILENCE.]

Alright, well, if there isn’t anything else…

**MARTIN**

Oh! Uh, yeah, no, I don’t, I don’t think so.

**BASIRA**

Okay. Talk to you later then. Stay safe.

[THE CONNECTION CUTS OUT.]

**MARTIN**

You t— Oh. Alright.

[A CLUNK AS THE PHONE IS PLACED BACK DOWN.]  
[FABRIC RUSTLES.]

Alright, bud, up ya go.

[A DOOR CREAKS OPEN AND CLOSED AGAIN.]  
[SOUNDS OF BLOWING WIND RISE IN VOLUME.]

I’m surprised you’re still here, honestly. Seriously, what’d you get out of that? ‘Well then, good to know Basira’s still alive’?

[MARTIN PAUSES.]

Hmm. Well, actually, maybe you _do_ care about that sort of thing. I always thought you showed up just for the statements, but… that’s not really all, is it? You just like to hear people talk.

[HEAVY FOOTSTEPS ON COBBLESTONE.]

Kind of makes me wonder how much of your appearances are due to the Eye and how much are due to… something else. Or maybe… some _one_ else.

[MARTIN SIGHS.]  
[FOOTSTEPS MOVE FROM COBBLE TO GRAVEL AGAIN.]

 _(Quiet)_ I dunno. Just… just a thought. That’s all.

[WINDS BLOWS THROUGH THE TREES. A LIGHT DRIZZLE BEGINS TO FALL.]

Seriously. Could I have some time alone, please?

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[EXT. SCOTLAND, A ROAD NEARBY THE SAFEHOUSE.]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[THE RAIN IS COMING DOWN HARD.]  
[MARTIN IS BREATHING HEAVILY.]

**MARTIN**

Oh, you, you’re back already? Odd time for you to manifest, really, I’m almost home by now. Not so sure what you’re waiting f—

[MARTIN ABRUPTLY CUTS HIMSELF OFF. HE HOLDS HIS BREATH.]

**MAILMAN**

Martin Blackwood, right?

**MARTIN**

U-uh.

[RUSTLING OF PAPERS AND FABRIC.]

**MAILMAN**

_(With a smile)_ Package for the Archivist.

**MARTIN**

I, um… what?

**MAILMAN**

You’re welcome. As I’m sure you know, the post office has been pretty busy lately. We’ve been having all sorts of system back-ups. In the future, you should probably stop by more often.

[A FEW MORE SMALL RUSTLES.]  
[HURRIED, SQUELCHING FOOTSTEPS OFF INTO THE DISTANCE.]

**MARTIN**

_(Under his breath)_ What the hell? This…

[SHIFTING OF SOMETHING PAPER, LIKELY AN ENVELOPE.]

 _(Unsettled)_ There’s no name on the label, so how did…

[MARTIN TAKES A SHUDDERING BREATH.]

Oh, I _don’t_ like this.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important to note that the tape doesn't go away until Martin says "please" :] Well it's only polite
> 
> Also, I have the vague beginnings of an outline for some sort of story(??) for this fic laid out, I'm looking forward to where it might go!
> 
> PSST: This just in, I posted a thing for when Martin burns Jonah's statement, taking place between chapters 1 and 2 [https://archiveofourown.org/works/29193372]


	4. A Formal Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin chat over breakfast, Martin seeks out a local enigma, and an old friend makes a reappearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I passed out on my laptop and woke up two hours later with this open on Scrivener, how convenient!
> 
> By the way, I wanted to let you guys properly know that in the few days since the last chapter was posted, my plans for this project have changed... like a LOT, haha. The concept explored in the original post this was based off of will return, but this chapter hints at some other plans I have in mind, as well.

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[SOUNDS OF SIZZLING, LIKE SOMETHING FRYING ON A PAN. IT IS OTHERWISE ALMOST COMPLETELY SILENT SAVE FOR THE WHIR OF THE TAPE RECORDER.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh. Good morning.

**MARTIN**

Hm?

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, no, not you. Tape.

**MARTIN**

Ahh, I see.

...

Well, then good morning, tape.

[THE ARCHIVIST SNICKERS.]  
[A SOFT THUD AS SOMETHING IS SET UPON A TABLE.]

**ARCHIVIST**

How’s breakfast coming?

**MARTIN**

_(Ehh)_ Just alright. I should probably pop down to the village today, by the way, we could use a food restock. I am getting sick of having turkey bacon for breakfast all the time.

**ARCHIVIST**

I thought you liked turkey bacon.

**MARTIN**

Sure, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I want to have it _all the time_.

[A COMFORTABLE SILENCE.]

**ARCHIVIST**

…Do you— hm.

**MARTIN**

Yes?

**ARCHIVIST**

Hmm. I-I don’t know, I was going to ask something, but it, it’s alright.

**MARTIN**

_(fond)_ Spit it out, Jon.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Heavy sigh)_ Alright. Do you think I could go with you this time?

...

To, to the village, that is.

**MARTIN**

…You really want to?

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, yes, I—I don’t see why not. You’re only stopping by the shop, right?

**MARTIN**

Hmm, uh, well, yeah, but… _(sigh)_ It can… _(a humorless laugh)_ it can get a little crowded in there. Cramped space. And more people than we’re used to.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh. _Oh, Martin_ , I’m so sorry, I hadn’t even considered—

**MARTIN**

—What? Oh, oh, no no no, It’s not _me_ , Jon, I’m _fine_.

**ARCHIVIST**

A-are you sure? Those first two weeks, you were—

**MARTIN**

_(snappish)_ —I _know_ , Jon, it was bad then. But this isn’t back then, is it? _(sigh)_ I haven’t had a problem there in at least three weeks, I think I’ll be okay.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yeah, well, maybe you _think_ that—

**MARTIN**

_God_ , I can take care of _myself_! You think I don’t know what I’m doing? I, I’m, I’m not _that_ useless, I think I can keep myself from crying in the middle of a bloody Tesco! And— and I _don’t_ need you bugging me like that, you know it just makes it all worse!

[THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS.]

_(Shakily)_ Oh. S-sorry, that was—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Quiet, patient)_ Martin.

[A BEAT. THEN, LIGHT FOOTSTEPS AND FABRIC RUSTLES.]

**MARTIN**

_(Small)_ I’m sorry.

**ARCHIVIST**

_Martin—_

**MARTIN**

Oh, just let me apologize, Jon!

[SILENCE. THE SOUNDS OF BOTH OF THEIR BREATHING.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Soft, almost whispered)_ It’s not your fault that happens.

**MARTIN**

Isn’t it, though?

[THE ARCHIVIST MUST MAKE A FACE, BECAUSE MARTIN SIGHS, DEFEATED.]

…Either way, you don’t deserve it.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Chuckle)_ That’s arguable, but beside the point.

[MARTIN MAKES A NOISE OF PROTEST, BUT IT’S QUICKLY CUT OFF.]

_(Delicate and measured)_ This is _your_ struggle, _your_ journey. I have nothing to do with it. E-except to support you, of course. If, If you ever need me.

[A THOUGHTFUL PAUSE.]

**MARTIN**

_(Sigh)_ I know. It’s frustrating, that it keeps coming back, the, the _anger_ , and everything else. It _hurts_ that it makes me hurt you. It makes the Fog look _very_ appealing.

[THE ARCHIVIST WHIMPERS SYMPATHETICALLY.]

It still wants me, Jon.

[THE SLIGHTEST HUM OF STATIC RISES.]

**ARCHIVIST**

I know. _It won’t have you._

**MARTIN**

_(Quiet)_ No. _(heh)_ No, it won’t.

[SILENCE, FOR A FEW MOMENTS LONGER. MARTIN AND THE ARCHIVIST BREATHE DEEPLY.]  
[THE SOUND OF SIZZLING INTENSIFIES.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Fond)_ The bacon, Martin!

**MARTIN**

_Oh!_ Sorry, sorry.

[FOOTSTEPS RECEDE.]  
[METALLIC CLATTERING, THEN SCRAPING.]  
[FOOTSTEPS RETURN.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Are you sure you’re still good to go alone? I-I really wouldn’t mind the exercise, anyway.

**MARTIN**

No… _(sigh)_ As much of a risk there is for both of us getting hurt, you’re probably more at risk than I am.

**ARCHIVIST**

So, what? I can hold my own.

**MARTIN**

Are you insinuating that I can’t?

**ARCHIVIST**

Um…

**MARTIN**

Hey, years of working the archives has fared pretty well for me! These arms have hefted dozens of heavy statement boxes onto shelves. _(Smug) And_ held grumpy little archivists.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, well, I don’t doubt _that_ , but…

[CLATTER OF PLATES BEING SET.]

Come on, you know. I’ve got— uh. Additional abilities.

**MARTIN**

_(Smiling)_ You’ve got spooky powers.

**ARCHIVIST**

_Please don’t— (sigh)_ Alright, yes, I do. Look, whatever hold the Lonely had on you, it isn’t going to come back to you easily. As I think we’ve seen, I’m much too far gone to have any say in that sort of development for myself.

**MARTIN**

Jon—

**ARCHIVIST**

No, no! This isn’t meant to be a bad thing, I’m just saying.

**MARTIN**

I’d rather you wouldn’t have to use those powers in the _first_ place. It’s not worth it for a carton of eggs.

[THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS.]

…I still don’t think you should be going into town yet.

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin, I _have_ been taking statements, I’ll be _fine_.

**MARTIN**

You’ve been taking _paper_ statements, not _live_ ones.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, well…

**MARTIN**

Jon, _come on_. It’s not worth it.

[A PAUSE.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST GRUMBLES.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Alright, if you say so.

[SILVERWARE CLINK AGAINST PLATES.]  
[A DRINK IS SIPPED, AND A CUP SETS BACK DOWN WITH A SOFT THUD.]

You know I trust you, right, Martin?

**MARTIN**

_(Caught off-guard)_ A-ah. Yes? Yes, of course.

**ARCHIVIST**

Okay. Good. Just… just making sure you knew.

[EXTENDED BREAKFAST SOUNDS.]  
[A FEW MINUTES LATER, A CHAIR SCRAPES BACK AGAINST THE FLOOR. FOOTSTEPS THUD FURTHER AWAY.]

Leaving already?

**MARTIN**

Yeah, may as well get it over with. _Then_ I can introduce you to Sappho.

**ARCHIVIST**

I _know_ who Sappho is, Martin.

**MARTIN**

The poet or Ms. Hendrickson’s cat?

**ARCHIVIST**

Who do you think?

**MARTIN**

_(Snort)_ Of course.

[FABRIC SHIFTING.]  
[A DOOR CREAKS OPEN. GUSTING WIND BLOWS THROUGH.]

**ARCHIVIST**

You stay safe, alright?

**MARTIN**

Will do. _Oh!_ By the way. Think I might see if I can pick up a couple burner phones — for added safety’s sake. If we can’t be together all the time, I’d like to have another way to stay connected.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, that— that sounds great, actually. I’m surprised we didn’t think of that sooner.

**MARTIN**

Well, Basira did have us _destroy_ our old phones, so…

**ARCHIVIST**

Ah. Good point.

**MARTIN**

Smart phones are off the table, but hopefully those old people flip phones will be safer.

**ARCHIVIST**

I’m sure they will be. Ah! Don’t forget your scarf this time.

[MARTIN MAKES A SOFT ‘OOH!’ SOUND. FABRIC RUSTLES.]

**MARTIN**

Thanks. Okay, see you in a bit, love.

[THE DOOR QUICKLY SLAMS SHUT.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Excitedly, to the recorder) Love?_ Is that what he said?

[THE ARCHIVIST DOES A CONTENTED LITTLE ‘HM’.]

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[EXT. A VILLAGE NEAR THE SAFEHOUSE.]  
[HEAVY FOOTSTEPS ON COBBLE STONE. THE WIND IS BLOWING.]  
[THERE IS THE FAINT CHATTER OF PASSING PEDESTRIANS.]

**MARTIN**

Oh. Hi, uh. Yeah, I figured you might show up.

[A FEW MOMENTS PASS WHERE MARTIN MAKES IDLE CLICKING SOUNDS WITH HIS MOUTH.]

I’m going to the post office to ‘pick up mail’. Which really means I’m going to find that weird mailman from the other day. I ran into them for that first time three days ago and haven’t seen them since. Neither have I opened that envelope, there’s no _way_ I’m trusting that, at least not without some answers first.

[THE CREAK OF AN OPENING AND CLOSING DOOR ACCOMPANIED BY THE DING OF A BELL.]  
[BLOWING WIND SUBSIDES.]

Doesn’t look like anyone’s in right now…

**MAILMAN**

_(Calling from another room)_ Hi, is someone there? Hang on, I’ll be out in a minute.

[MARTIN HOLDS HIS BREATH.]

**MARTIN**

_(Whispered, to the tape recorder)_ I think that’s them. The, the mail man.

[A LOUD CRASHING NOISE. THE MAILMAN YELPS.]

**MAILMAN**

_Shit!_ Ow, ow, ow—

**MARTIN**

…Do you need help?

**MAILMAN**

E-er… yes, please.

**MARTIN**

Alright, I’m comi— oh.

[THE MAILMAN GROANS.]

**MAILMAN**

Hey, Martin. _(Cough)_ Do, do you think you could—

**MARTIN**

Um… yeah, uh, sure thing.

[MARTIN GRUNTS. BOXES SLIDE ACROSS THE TILE FLOOR.]

**MAILMAN**

Thank you.

[A LONG, AWKWARD SILENCE.]

**MARTIN**

It’s _you_.

**MAILMAN**

Uh… yes?

**MARTIN**

How _do_ you know my name, anyway? How— how _is_ that?! You, you really don’t _look_ like Stranger to me, although the whole… delivery man thing? Is _totally_ giving me that vibe.

**MAILMAN**

What?

**MARTIN**

_(Impatient, with bite)_ Oh, don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!

[A BEAT.]  
[THE MAILMAN LAUGHS.]

**MAILMAN**

_(Breathless hilarity)_ What? You think I’m with the Stranger?!

[THE MAILMAN CONTINUES LAUGHING.]

**MARTIN**

_(Well and truly baffled)_ Wh-what, what?!

[THE MAILMAN CATCHES HIS BREATH.]

**MAILMAN**

Sorry, sorry— _(sigh)_ You’re right, you do deserve an explanation. Here, follow me.

**MARTIN**

Wh— I’m, I’m not going to _follow_ you!

**MAILMAN**

Why not?

**MARTIN**

Why _should_ I?! I don’t even know who you are!

**MAILMAN**

That’s exactly what I’m going to tell you, but I can’t do it out here. Too much of a risk of being overheard.

**MARTIN**

I have no way of knowing what you’ll do to me.

**MAILMAN**

_(Clearly impatient)_ If you were to go missing, your Archivist would be able to find you.

**MARTIN**

Yeah, okay, unless you’re Stranger! O-or Dark, or— _something!_

**MAILMAN**

…Fine. Yeah, I guess that’s fair enough.

[FOOTSTEPS ON TILE; THERE’S A SQUEAK WHENEVER A SHOES SCUFFS THE FLOOR.]  
[BATED SILENCE.]

**MARTIN**

Oh. Really?

**MAILMAN (ISAIAH)**

Yes. Really.

[THE MAILMAN BREATHES DEEPLY.]

My name is Isaiah Wilcox. I work as a postal carrier in the area.

**MARTIN**

_(Immediate)_ And who do you serve?

**ISAIAH**

You know, I’m not sure why you think that’s so important. What does it matter which god I serve? I delivered your package, didn’t I?

**MARTIN**

You— _(scoff)_ You have _no_ idea what we’ve been through.

[ISAIAH HUMS.]

**ISAIAH**

You’re right. I don’t, not really. _(Sigh)_ Well, I guess it is in your best interest to worry about those sorts of things. I don’t intend to hurt you, though.

[TWO SETS OF CAREFUL FOOTSTEPS.]

**MARTIN**

What _do_ you want, then? I still don’t understand.

**ISAIAH**

_(With a laugh)_ Of course you don’t.

[MARTIN MAKES AN ANGRY NOISE.]

No! No, sorry, that came out wrong. I was just joking with myself.

**MARTIN**

… _Joking_ with yourself? What—

**ISAIAH**

_(Overlapping)_ I want to help the Archivist.

[A PAUSE.]

**MARTIN**

_(Go on…)_ Oh…?

**ISAIAH**

He’s— _(sigh)_ He’s obviously very hungry. I don’t want him to starve—

**MARTIN**

—And why _not?_ Because his skin would be better to you if he were kept well-fed?

**ISAIAH**

I _told_ you, I’m not of the Stranger. Now, will you please let me continue?

[MARTIN GRUMBLES.]

**MARTIN**

…Fine.

**ISAIAH**

Okay. _Thank_ you.

[A CHAIR SCRAPING AGAINST TILE, THEN SOFTLY RUSTLING FABRIC AND A SMALL THUD.]  
[A FEW MOMENTS LATER, IT HAPPENS AGAIN.]

Your Archivist has been hungry. I noticed some more statements were sent up to you, but two days passed and you never came to pick them up. Normally your home is way out of my range, but I figured more statements would be good for you to have… just in case.

**MARTIN**

Oh. Well, um… thank you, I guess?

**ISAIAH**

You’re welcome. And I swear it’s just statements in there, like I said.

**MARTIN**

_(Stern)_ And if it isn’t?

**ISAIAH**

What?

[A FAINT SQUEAL OF DISTORTION LEAKS IN.]

**MARTIN**

If you’re lying — if there’s _anything_ extra in that package — you know what we can do to you, right?

**ISAIAH**

_(Faltering)_ I-I… Yes, I, I think I do.

**MARTIN**

_(Darkly)_ Good.

[THE DISTORTED NOISE DISAPPEARS.]

**ISAIAH**

_(Breathless)_ …Oh. I thought you weren’t Lonely anymore.

**MARTIN**

_(Confused)_ I’m… I’m not?

**ISAIAH**

No, that, that was mist, alright.

**MARTIN**

I, I… _what?_

[ISAIAH HUMS.]

Oh… oh, _God_ , no, I _hope_ not.

**ISAIAH**

I-I’m sure it’s… _(sigh)_ Don’t stress it.  
…  
You know, you can be pretty intimidating if you try.

**MARTIN**

_(Quiet)_ I know.

[A LONG PAUSE.]

**ISAIAH**

Before you leave, there is actually something I should tell you.

**MARTIN**

Hm?

**ISAIAH**

Yeah. Martin, you should know… being holed up in your little cabin won’t save you forever. You’ve been here for, what, five weeks now? Two weeks ago, the world could have ended. But, it didn’t. And now, everyone wants a grab at the Archivist.

**MARTIN**

But… why? What do they want with him, What— what would they have to gain?

**ISAIAH**

I dunno, really. It might be because of anger, might be for revenge, might be for something different entirely. The point is, the Archivist is like an elastic waiting to snap. He’s got all this potential energy. One thing sets him off… there’s no telling what he could be capable of.

[A LENGTHY PAUSE.]

**MARTIN**

Do you think Elias is going to try to use him again?

**ISAIAH**

I… I-I don’t, know who that is.

**MARTIN**

You _don’t?_ I'd expected you would know everything about this whole... _situation_.

**ISAIAH**

No, _really_. I can’t know everything, no one can.

**MARTIN**

_(Grumbled, under his breath)_ That’s actually not true.

**ISAIAH**

I, I don’t—

[A CHAIR ABRUPTLY SCRAPES ON THE FLOOR.]  
[FAST, HEAVY FOOTSTEPS CLUNK.]

**MARTIN**

Right. Well, thanks for your _warning_ , I guess.

**ISAIAH**

_Wait_ , I, I’m serious.

[ANOTHER CHAIR SCRAPES. THE FOOTSTEPS CEASE.]

There are horrible things coming your way, I can feel it. I _know_ it. You have to keep him safe.

**MARTIN**

…  
How can I do that if I’m so powerless?

**ISAIAH**

_(Simply)_ You improvise.

[A LONG SILENCE FILLED ONLY WITH STEADY BREATHING.]

I’ll help you, if you ever decide you do need it.

[A BEAT.]

**MARTIN**

_(Flat)_ We’ll see about that.

[FOOTSTEPS RESUME.]  
[A FEW MOMENTS LATER, THE DOOR CREAKS AGAIN; THE BELL DINGS, AND THE WIND PICKS BACK UP.]

**ISAIAH**

_(Calling from inside)_ I’ll see you then!

[THE DOOR SLAMS SHUT.]  
[MARTIN RELEASES A HELD BREATH.]

**MARTIN**

_(Slow) …Wow_. What the hell was—

**HELEN**

_(Excited) Martin!_

[MARTIN SCREAMS.]  
[FOOTSTEPS STUMBLE OVER PAVEMENT.]

**MARTIN**

_(Catching his breath) What the—_ Y-you’re—

**HELEN**

_Your_ Helen! The one and only. _My_ , has it been a while! You’ve grown since I last saw you.

**MARTIN**

_(Breathless)_ …So have you.

[HELEN HUMS.]

**HELEN**

Now, I don’t mean to pry, but I overheard that conversation with your mail friend in there, and I regret to inform you that I think he’s right.

**MARTIN**

He’s… right? Right about what?

**HELEN**

Well, _all of it!_ You didn’t really think you and Jon could hide _forever_ , did you? There are awful, terrible things out there, and our Archivist is destined to meet them halfway.

**MARTIN**

_(Fierce)_ I’m not letting them anywhere _near_ him.

**HELEN**

Hmm. I have to say, your devotion is admirable. But I’m really not sure what you could do. You can’t hide forever, and you can’t kill these sorts of things. They always come back.

**MARTIN**

So, what do you want us to do, then? Just, curl up under the sheets and wait for something to come kill us?

**HELEN**

_(Overly cheery)_ I don’t know, may _be!_ That’s the beautiful thing about all this, really— for once in your sad little archiving careers, _you_ two have full responsibility for your own choices. There’s no one there threatening you, no one pushing you which way or what. You have all the freedom you’ve ever wanted!

**MARTIN**

Yeah, but, freedom to choose how we die? That’s not— that doesn’t seem very fair.

**HELEN**

(Darkly) Nothing in this life is fair, Martin, not really. I’m sorry things couldn’t be easier for you. Actually, that does make me wonder... if you had the chance… would you leave this life for the one you once had?

...

No creepy evil managers, no monsters hunting you at every turn. Just a normal, mundane life. Would you take it?

**MARTIN**

_(Quiet)_ Probably not.

**HELEN**

_(Delightfully surprised)_ Oh, _really?_ And why do you say that?

**MARTIN**

I couldn’t— _(sigh)_ I couldn’t just leave Jon to face all this alone. He needs me here.

**HELEN**

And you really believe that?

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping) Shut up!_

**HELEN**

_(Placating)_ I could be right.

**MARTIN**

Maybe. Maybe you are. But I trust Jon.

[MARTIN BREATHES DEEPLY.]

And I _don’t_ have to listen to you.

[HELEN HUMS.]

**HELEN**

_(Mildly impressed)_ I suppose you’re right.

[SHE SIGHS DEEPLY, ALMOST OVER-DRAMATICALLY.]

_Well_ , if that’s all for now, then you’d best be going. You’ve got someone very _special_ waiting back at home, after all.

[SHE LAUGHS, AND IT’S A HORRIBLE, TWISTING THING.]

_(Dark and low)_ See you around.

[A DOOR CREAKS LOUDLY SHUT.]  
[MARTIN BREATHES DEEPLY AND SHAKILY.]

**MARTIN**

The two of us are never going to catch a break, are we?

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not very confident with the characterization in this one, but I'm okay with it because I'm trying very hard to just vibe with it, haha
> 
> Also, my hand is hovering over the "Make Martin Lonely Again" button and I've yet to decide what I'll do with it
> 
> EDIT 1/25/21: Made it so when the Mailman introduces himself, his name in the transcript switches to his actual first name. The Mailman isn't even his title anyways, and with all the interactions him and Martin will be having, it's a bit of a headache having to read one-on-one convos between two characters whose names both start with an M.


	5. One Secret Confessed and One Secret Kept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first package of statements is concluded, Martin receives a warning, Jon makes a confession, and Martin decidedly does not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry it's been a while since the last update (just over a week I think?). I'm not confident enough in my personal availability to set up an update schedule, but I am motivated to finish this fic eventually.
> 
> Also, just a heads up: I decided to go back and replace "MAILMAN" with "ISAIAH" in the fic starting with the dialogue where the character reveals his name. He is still written as "MAILMAN" initially. I wanted to mention it here so you all could be reminded that the Mailman and Isaiah are indeed the same character.

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[SOUNDS OF PAPERS BEING SORTED AND SHUFFLED ABOUT.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST COUGHS LIGHTLY.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Under his breath)_ Alright, last one, let’s see what we have here.

[THE CHAIR CREAKS.]

“Statements” by M. K. Black— wait, what?

[PAPER FLIPPING.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST SNICKERS.]

_(Mischievous)_ Well, alright, then.  
“Statements” by M. K. Blackwood.

**ARCHIVIST (SLAM POETRY)**

He records statements.

I hear him speaking through the door  
For him it is his job  
But for me it is so much more.

Every sentence is a statement  
Every fact, punctuated by a note  
All my reports are remiss because I miss  
That punctuation like a kiss.

[THE ARCHIVIST LAUGHS; ‘WHAT??’]

What he says is often strange  
Or scalding when it’s me  
But every wound can be patched up  
With kindness or a cup of tea.

[THE ARCHIVIST ESCALATES HIS DRAMATICS, RAISING HIS VOICE.]

Oh, woe is me!  
For what is tea  
Without the things he sees in me?

[FROM FAR OFF IN THE HOUSE, THERE IS A COMMOTION. IT SOUNDS FAINTLY LIKE MARTIN IS YELLING.]  
[HEAVY STAMPING FOOTSTEPS DRAW CLOSER AND CLOSER.]

He takes it honey sweet  
With none yet left for me  
But I hope the honey warms his heart  
As all his statements do for me.

[THE DOOR SLAMS OPEN.]

**MARTIN**

_(Spluttering)_ Jon, _what_ are you reading?!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Smug)_ I found this old piece in the package Basira sent.

**MARTIN**

I— Wh, I-I— _why_ would she—

**ARCHIVIST**

I don’t know, but I am thoroughly enjoying myself!

**MARTIN**

I— well— oh, give it here!

[PAPER CRINKLES.]

Oh, _God_ , not this one…

**ARCHIVIST**

It took some very, uh, _interesting_ rhythmic liberties.

[MARTIN GROANS.]

I don’t know, I-I can sort of see the appeal—

**MARTIN**

Well, don’t _lie_ , that just makes it worse.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Laughing)_ I wasn’t!  
…  
Will you tell me about it?

**MARTIN**

The poem?

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, I, I’d like to hear more about it. When is this from?

[PAPER FLIPPING.]

**MARTIN**

This is one of the earliest, I think.

**ARCHIVIST**

Really?

**MARTIN**

…Well, about you, that is.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh!

**MARTIN**

This must have been… just after Prentiss.

**ARCHIVIST**

After Prentiss?

**MARTIN**

Uhh, yeah. You, uh, offered me to stay in the Archives for the time being. Jon, that was one of the nicer things anyone’s ever done for me.

**ARCHIVIST**

Why _then?_ I was still being such an arse to you.

**MARTIN**

_(A little laugh)_ Yeah, you were, but that was the first time I saw true evidence towards you being a better person than you let on. From then on I tried a bit harder to try to figure you out, see what else I could learn. Not to use you, just, just to be able to know you.  
It took a while for me to really get the chance, obviously. But I think it was worth it.

**ARCHIVIST**

I’m really not sure how you did it.

**MARTIN**

Me neither, honestly? But I’m glad we’re here now; that’s all that matters.

[FABRIC RUSTLES.]

**ARCHIVIST**

On a more serious note, that was the last of the documents in that package. Have we gotten another?

**MARTIN**

Uh…

**ARCHIVIST**

She must have sent more. U-unless something happened—

**MARTIN**

No, no, um. Yeah, I got one. Uh, let me, let me go grab that.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh! Alright, good.

[FOOTSTEPS RECEDE FURTHER INTO THE HOUSE.]  
[A FEW MOMENTS OF THE ARCHIVIST’S BREATHING AND A CLICKING PEN.]  
[FINALLY, MARTIN RETURNS.]

**MARTIN**

Let me just…

[MARTIN HOLDS HIS BREATH.]  
[WHAT SOUNDS LIKE A LARGE ENVELOPE BEING TORN OPEN.]

These are… huh. Oh, they— these are just more statements! Heh.

**ARCHIVIST**

…What else would they be?

**MARTIN**

I-I don’t know, really, I’ve been a bit worried about getting… other things in the mail. Like… bombs, or… I don’t know.

**ARCHIVIST**

Ah. Well, that is a very real concern.

**MARTIN**

Yeah…

[PAPER SHUFFLING.]

This one looks okay…  
…  
I’m going to be vetting these for you, I think.

**ARCHIVIST**

What? Why?

**MARTIN**

Why else? So whatever happened the _first_ time doesn’t happen again!

**ARCHIVIST**

Nothing happened with that one, it— it just came close—

**MARTIN**

—Yeah, well I’d really rather not take our chances. We don’t know what exactly will or won’t work! It’s not worth it to just _assume_ we’re safe like this.

**ARCHIVIST**

What if it pulls you in?

**MARTIN**

It wouldn’t. Not like it does for you.

**ARCHIVIST**

It could still hurt you.

**MARTIN**

No, not, not really? I wouldn’t be reading it aloud or anything, just skimming.

**ARCHIVIST**

Hmm.

**MARTIN**

Jon, please. I want to help you.

**ARCHIVIST**

…  
Alright. That seems fair enough.  
But not right now? I’m thinking of getting some fresh air.

**MARTIN**

Oh! Oh, yeah, that sounds great! You mean _now_ now, or—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Smiling)_ Seems as good a time as any.

**MARTIN**

Right! Great. Oh, let me just—

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[EXT. SCOTLAND, A ROAD NEARBY THE SAFEHOUSE.]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[THE ROARING TIDES OF A RIVER. THE AIR IS STILL.]  
[TWO SETS OF FOOTSTEPS CRUNCH OVER DIRT.]

**MARTIN**

You must have told me all that before, I swear it feels so familiar.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Scoffs)_ Why in the world would I ever feel the need to info dump to you about emulsifiers?

**MARTIN**

Wh— _(A disbelieving sound)_ You’re doing it right now!

**ARCHIVIST**

Well… this doesn’t count.

**MARTIN**

You are unbelievable!

[THE ARCHIVIST LAUGHS.]  
[FOOTSTEPS CEASE.]

**ARCHIVIST**

So this is it, then?

**MARTIN**

Yeah. Thought it might be pretty.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Soft)_ It is.

[MARTIN SHUCKS A BAG OFF OF HIS SHOULDERS, PRODUCING A HARSH FABRIC SOUND.]

**MARTIN**

Think I might sit here for a while, try to get creative juices flowing. You?

**ARCHIVIST**

…No, thanks. I’ll keep on the trail, I think. Won’t go too far.

**MARTIN**

Alright. Call if you need anything, okay?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Smiling)_ Sure.

[FOOTSTEPS BEGIN TO RECEDE.]

**MARTIN**

Try not to wander off!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Far-off)_ I’m not a child anymore, Martin!

**MARTIN**

_(To himself)_ That… is… debatable.

[PEN CLICKS.]  
[QUIET FOOTSTEPS DRAW CLOSER.]

Now, let’s see here…

**ISAIAH**

Hellooo.

[MARTIN YELPS.]

**MARTIN**

_Agh!_ Christ, you scare— _startled_ me!

**ISAIAH**

_(Laughing)_ Sorry, sorry.

**MARTIN**

Where did you even _come_ from?

**ISAIAH**

Erm… the… trail?

**MARTIN**

Wh— were you _following_ us?

**ISAIAH**

No, no! God, of course not! There are multiple trails leading to here, it’s not an uncommon landmark.

**MARTIN**

Oh, so this is just a coincidence, then? Just, happened to stumble upon me here, not moments after my arrival—

**ISAIAH**

_(Overlapping)_ —Well, it’s obviously not _natural_ that I knew to find you here.

**MARTIN**

Care to elaborate on that?

**ISAIAH**

No, not really.

[MARTIN SIGHS.]

**MARTIN**

_Of_ course.

[MARTIN SHIFTS FROM WHERE HE WAS SITTING.]  
[FABRIC RUSTLES AND ISAIAH EXHALES, SITTING DOWN.]

So what is it now? I didn’t ask to see you.

**ISAIAH**

No… I know, I know, but it’s been a few days, I thought it’d be best to check in.

**MARTIN**

_(Frustrated)_ Oh, just _because?_

**ISAIAH**

Um… kind of, yeah.

[A BEAT.]  
[MARTIN SIGHS.]

**MARTIN**

…Okay. Well, I’d be lying if I said you weren’t sort of creepy—

**ISAIAH**

—Glad to hear it!—

**MARTIN**

—But you _did_ tell the truth about that package you delivered, so that has to count for _something_ , at least.

**ISAIAH**

That’s right. Like I said, I do want to help you.

**MARTIN**

_(Unconvinced)_ …Right.

**ISAIAH**

Right!

[DRAWN SILENCE.]

**MARTIN**

…Is there anything else, or…?

**ISAIAH**

Oh! Yes, yes, I thought it would be within your interest to know that mannequins in shop windows in the area have been disappearing due to ‘organized burglaries’ as of late. People supposedly taking the mannequins and the clothes they’re displaying, but nothing else. A little… odd, really, don’t you think?

**MARTIN**

…What?

**ISAIAH**

You heard me. I’d be more careful of where I step if I were you, both of you.

**MARTIN**

_Oh_ , y-you think it’s the, uh, the Stranger.

**ISAIAH**

What else would it be? Unconventional circumstances. Mannequins. They really hate the lot of you, you know, for disrupting their latest ritual.

**MARTIN**

So you know about that, too, then?

**ISAIAH**

Yup. It was a pretty big deal, all things considered. Always is when a ritual is foiled. The Eye has been responsible for most of those flubs in the last couple hundred years at least, and no one has been very happy about that. Why else do you think everyone hates the Institute?

**MARTIN**

…And you don’t?

**ISAIAH**

Don’t really have a reason to. I’m not close enough with my patron for that sort of thing to really affect me? I’ve never cared about all of that. I just sort of… do my thing, run the gossip mill, etcetera, etcetera.

**MARTIN**

Well, that’s interesting. Reminds me of how Jon was at the start of all this.

**ISAIAH**

That seems like an apt comparison to make, yeah. I’m not very powerful, really, but I am deep in the goings on about town. Got a lot of connections.

**MARTIN**

_(Ohh)_ So you’re Web, then?

**ISAIAH**

_(Snort)_ God, no. Can’t stand spiders.

**MARTIN**

Then wh—

[ISAIAH CLAPS HIS HANDS TOGETHER LOUDLY.]

**ISAIAH**

_(Time to change the subject!) Well!_ It has been nice, catching up with you, but I really should be going.

**MARTIN**

Wh— I— so you drop in out of nowhere, give a cryptic warning about mannequins coming to kill us, and then just— run off without another word?

**ISAIAH**

Well, honestly I don’t think they’re wanting to kill you… knowing the Stranger, they probably have something much worse in mind.

**MARTIN**

Not the point here!

**ISAIAH**

You’ll be fine… probably. The Archivist is powerful, he might be able to protect you both in a pinch.

**MARTIN**

He ‘might’?

**ISAIAH**

_(Impatient)_ Look, despite whatever impression you have about me, I’m not all-knowing. I’m not perfect, and I can’t do much else besides try to help you delay the inevitable.

[A PAUSE.]

**MARTIN**

I’m _still_ not sure why you’re so adamant on helping.

**ISAIAH**

_(Immediate)_ Well, luckily for you, it’s not your place to worry about it.

...

Check the safehouse for any kind of weaponry— it used to belong to the copper, right, so there should be a good amount of firearms available. Keep those on hand. And if you have a lighter, I’d keep that on your person as well— you know how those Strangers are with fire. Otherwise, I wish you the best. Have a good one.

[FOOTSTEPS RECEDE.]

**MARTIN**

_(Calling after him)_ What— _You can’t just—!_

[MARTIN CUTS HIMSELF OFF AND SIGHS DEEPLY.]  
[FOOTSTEPS APPROACH, ALTHOUGH THESE ARE MUCH MORE TELEGRAPHED THAN ISAIAH’S.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Were you talking to someone?

**MARTIN**

Oh! Welcome back. It, it was nothing, don’t worry about it.

**ARCHIVIST**

…Alright. Well, I’m sorry to report there’s nothing off that trail apart from more dirt and trees. Really not worth the uphill climb.

**MARTIN**

…Yeah.

...

Jon, there’s—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Simultaneous)_ Martin, I—

[BOTH MAKE NOISES OF SURPRISE.]

Oh! Were you going to say something—

**MARTIN**

Hha, ha, no, it’s okay, um… _(swallows)_ You go ahead first.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh. O-okay.

[HE TAKES A DEEP BREATH.]

Martin, I’m afraid I have been… keeping something from you.

**MARTIN**

_(Genuine shock)_ You— wait, what?

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes. I— I didn’t mean to, it just… _(sigh)_ It was… a lot, and I wasn’t sure if showing you would be very… smart, if it would just make things worse, so I didn’t…

**MARTIN**

What is it, Jon.

[THE ARCHIVIST BREATHS A LITTLE HEAVIER.]

**ARCHIVIST**

There were… tapes.

**MARTIN**

Tapes?

**ARCHIVIST**

In the… in the first package Basira sent up.

**MARTIN**

You… oh.

**ARCHIVIST**

It wasn’t anything particularly sinister, I don’t think. Recorded conversations, one was of that, that surprise party you all threw me a while back, a-and one was of Gerard Keay with Gertrude… But it was still a, a lot to get a handle on.

**MARTIN**

W-wow, that’s… um…

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin, I am _so sorry_. I wanted to tell you, so badly, b-but I was… afraid, I suppose, that it’d only make things worse for you. I-I know you’re mostly free from the Lonely by now, but I still—

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping)_ What about _you_ , Jon? How about what’s worse for you?

**ARCHIVIST**

I… I-I don’t—  
…  
Martin, it’s not— I’m, I’m _used_ to dealing with these… sorts of things, heavy topics, a-almost constantly since I took this damn job! It’s not the same for me as it is for you.

**MARTIN**

_(Incredulous)_ I think I can handle it, Jon! I, I mean— Christ, I dealt with Lukas for _months_ without you there, you think I can’t handle listening to a, a tape about happy birthday?!

**ARCHIVIST**

I-it would have hurt you! _Could_ have hurt you. I can’t afford to hurt you any more than I already have.

**MARTIN**

You haven’t—  
 _(Sigh)_  
I understand where you’re coming from, I guess, but it’s not as much of a courtesy as you think it is. I should… I should have a right to know these things, I-I thought we… I _trusted_ you.

**ARCHIVIST**

You’re… you’re right. _(sigh)_ And I am very sorry.

[THE ARCHIVIST’S BREATHING ESCALATES.]

I’ve been, I’ve been thinking about it for _days_ now, a-and I think even then I knew it wasn’t right, but I was so scared to bring it up, I-I didn’t want to—

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping)_ Jon, _breathe._

[MARTIN HUSHES THE ARCHIVIST COMFORTINGLY. AFTER A FEW MOMENTS OF MEASURED BREATHING, HE RELAXES.]  
[FABRIC RUSTLES AS THEY EMBRACE.]

Look, I’m, I’m definitely… disappointed. And maybe feeling a bit betrayed. B-but I’m not— I’m not fully _angry_ at you. I’m sorry that you thought I might be.

**ARCHIVIST**

It’s not that I thought you wouldn’t, er, _forgive_ me or anything, but I—

[MARTIN HUSHES HIM AGAIN.]

**MARTIN**

No, I, I know. And I think I get it.  
…  
I… thank you for telling me. Eventually. I wish you’d have just told me at the start, but… wishing won’t accomplish anything now.

**ARCHIVIST**

I’m sorry.

**MARTIN**

I know. Thank you for apologizing, and for telling the truth. It’s… it’s still not great, but it’s… a start.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yeah. Yeah.

[THEY BOTH SIGH AND ENJOY THE CONTACT FOR A FEW MORE MOMENTS.]  
[WHEN THE ARCHIVIST SPEAKS, HIS VOICE IS NOTICEABLY SOFTER.]

Was there… something _you_ wanted to tell me?

**MARTIN**

Um…  
No… no. No, it was nothing, really.

**ARCHIVIST**

Are you… are you sure?

**MARTIN**

Yeah. It’s… _(sigh)_ It’s fine.

**ARCHIVIST**

Alright.  
 _(Aiming for levity)_ I’ll hold you to that, then.

[MARTIN HUFFS A SHORT LAUGH.]

**MARTIN**

Heh. Sure.

[JUST THEN, THE WIND PICKS UP.]

**ARCHIVIST**

It’s getting chilly out. We should head back… shall we?

[MARTIN LETS OUT A SHAKY EXHALE.]

**MARTIN**

Yes… let’s.

[FOOTSTEPS CRUNCH OVER DIRT ONCE MORE.]  
[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way: I've been spending a lot of time thinking about how I want this fic to end. My ideas might change as new information is revealed in canon, or it might not depending on how core those changes are to concept explored in the fic. Therefore, I'm not confident enough in the ending to put a tag hinting at what the ending will be like. Right now, it's looking to be a BITTERSWEET ending, where both Jon and Martin survive, but at a cost.


	6. Due Correspondence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin receive a long-awaited update from back home. Martin goes "hunting".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised with how soon this update came after the last one, especially with how pertinent the contents of this chapter will be for the rest of the fic, but I was impatient to get it out there. I have been getting ~ideas~ for the past couple of days and already have the last couple chapters written out in my head, which is very exciting. This chapter will definitely help move things along!

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[A DOOR CREAKS OPEN.]

**MARTIN**

_(Brusque)_ Mail.

**ARCHIVIST**

_Oh!_ Ah, Martin, I hadn’t— wait—

[FOOTSTEPS CLUNK ACROSS THE FLOOR, GROWING CLOSER.]

**MARTIN**

It’s a letter, just picked it up. Basira said she doesn’t know what it is, but… the return address is for the Institute.

[THE ARCHIVIST GROANS.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Sarcastic)_ Oh, _wonderful._  
…  
Give it here?

**MARTIN**

_Ah ah ah,_ no… remember what we talked about?

[THE ARCHIVIST GRUMBLES.]  
[TEARING PAPER, THEN SHUFFLING ABOUT.]

**MARTIN**

Yup. About what I expected.

**ARCHIVIST**

Elias?

**MARTIN**

Mmhm. It _looks_ okay…  
…  
How about this. You read it, _carefully,_ and I’ll stand by. If anything starts to… happen, I intervene.

**ARCHIVIST**

A-alright. Sure.

[THE CHAIR CREAKS SLIGHTLY.]

Correspondence for… Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, from one Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute, London.

[THE ARCHIVIST CLEARS HIS THROAT.]

Statement… statement begins.

[STATIC RISES STEADILY.]

**ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)**

I’m not going to bother pretending this isn’t what it is. There wouldn’t be much of a point in doing so, not anymore. I know you hate it when people beat around the bush, Jon, so I won’t waste your time. I am at least a decent enough man to do that.

It is quite a shame that the ritual did not work. I’ll admit, it was a shot in the dark in a few ways. I’d thought that, after years studying under its watchful gaze, the Eye would be better with written word, but as this has proven quite frustratingly, it’s still not enough. I may have been… hasty, in my assumptions, but you must understand I have a lot on my plate right now. You do know how hard it is, living on the run.

[MARTIN MAKES A LOW, ANGRY NOISE.]

You must be aware that this isn't over yet. I know that the human in you despises all we’ve worked toward, but the Archivist in you is hungry; always has been. You want more, more than you ever have before. I assume you found it difficult to stop reading, as is usually the case when it comes to your statements, so although my written ritual wasn’t enough to bring the new world into fruition, it must have at least given you a taste. At least now you have some understanding of what such a world would be like for you. I know some part of you must have been salivating at the thought.

This is only the beginning. I have centuries of knowledge on my side, and I will _not_ give up all of my hard work for nothing.

[A LONG, HEAVY PAUSE. THE STATIC HANGS STILL IN THE AIR.]

Archivist, while we are here, let me make a few things clear to you.

[THE BUZZING STATIC GROWS MORE INSISTENT.]

For as long as you live — no matter what you do, no matter where you go — you will never escape this. You cannot run or hide effectively or long enough. This path is yours forever, until you either expend your usage to the Eye or come to a gruesome, horrific end. Gertrude died as easily as she did because she was barely a fraction of what you’ve become. For you, dying would be much, much harder; which, in your case, is a curse rather than a blessing.

This all goes for Martin, too, of course. There’s little chance for him to wiggle out of this. If even he were to leave you — which I’m sure would be unthinkable for both of you — then these horrors still would never escape him. He is heavily marked: not as much as you are, but still significantly so. Most people don’t just live on with even a single mark… or, if they do, then the mark never leaves them, always haunts them, insistently, insufferably. Could you imagine what that would be like for dear Martin? The Archivist, at least, has some shelter provided by the Eye. But _Martin_ has always been rather stubborn. With less Eye than yourself, and little faith in the Lonely… well. I honestly don’t think he would make it very far.

[THE ARCHIVIST _GROWLS_ , AND IT SOUNDS LIKE STATIC, BUT HE DOES NOT STOP READING.]

The only good ending on your horizon is one where you welcome this new world. I don’t know how long it will take you to embrace that truth, but when you do, I expect you will both come home. The Archives are where you belong, after all. I only wish you’d realized this before you ran off. Oh, well. It’s only a matter of time before you come crawling back. After all, what is an Archive without its Archivist? Pointless, really. _Pathetic._

[A BREATHLESS PAUSE.]  
[WHEN THE ARCHIVIST RESUMES, HIS VOICE IS SIGNIFICANTLY MORE FRAGILE THAN IS TYPICAL FOR A STATEMENT. IT WAVERS SLIGHTLY.]

You’re safer here, anyway — where nothing can hurt you besides your own damn stupidity and aimless hope.

[THE STATIC TAPERS OFF UNTIL IT FADES TO NOTHING.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Statement ends.

[THEY BOTH BREATHE DEEPLY.]

That was…

[MARTIN RUSHES OUT A BREATH.]

**MARTIN**

Unsettling?

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, I was actually going to say disgusting, but sure.  
…  
I usually have a difficult time… separating myself from statements. With the _ritual_ , though… it was much worse than anything I’d experienced prior. This wasn’t nearly as bad as that was, but it still feels disgusting, knowingly letting him put his words into my mouth.

**MARTIN**

Oh— _eugh._ God, I hadn’t considered that.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yeah. _(sigh)_ Well… is that all, then?

**MARTIN**

_(Soft)_ For now, yeah. Fancy a cuppa?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Smiling)_ Yes, I think that would be quite nice.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE. A FEW DAYS LATER.]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[SOUNDS OF SOMEONE SIPPING A DRINK AND IDLY FINGERING THROUGH PAGES.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST HUMS A TUNE.]  
[SUDDENLY: A THUD AGAINST A WINDOW, DISTANT, FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HOUSE.]  
[WHEN MARTIN SPEAKS, HE’S CALLING FROM FAR-OFF. THE ARCHIVIST CALLS BACK IN A SIMILAR TONE.]

**MARTIN**

_(Animated, slightly panicked) Shit!_

**ARCHIVIST**

Was that a bird?

**MARTIN**

N-no, I, uh—

[NONDESCRIPT CLATTERING, AGAIN FROM ELSEWHERE IN THE HOUSE.]  
[THEN, THE DISTINCTIVE THUD OF BOOTS AGAINST WOODEN FLOORING.]

 _(Hardened, but a tad nervous)_ I’m going hunting!

**ARCHIVIST**

…Sorry, _what?_

**MARTIN**

Hunting!

**ARCHIVIST**

O-oh! I, I didn’t, uh… I hadn’t taken you for a hunter.

**MARTIN**

_(A little breathless)_ Yeah, well, couldn’t hurt to get a hobby!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(A tad uneasy)_ …Martin, are you—

**MARTIN**

_(Cutting him off) Bye,_ Jon!

[THE FRONT DOOR CREAKS OPEN AND SLAMS FORCEFULLY SHUT.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST OBSERVES THE SILENCE FOR A FEW MINUTES. THEN, FABRIC AUDIBLY SHIFTS AS HE SUPPOSEDLY SHRUGS.]  
[HIS VOICE IS QUIETER AS HE TALKS TO HIMSELF.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, I suppose I’m not really one to judge— _strange hobbies._

[HE GRUMBLES.]

Still a bit odd, though.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter chapter, but I think it evens out since there was a lot more blocky paragraphed writing than straight dialogue (which is a lot easier for me to write)
> 
> EDIT 01/31/21: Made some formatting changes across all six chapters, most notably removed the "NAME (CONT'D)" bits because they're pretty unnecessary and also annoying for me to deal with. I think I saw them in one TMA transcript so decided to include them, but I haven't seen them anywhere else since so I decided to get rid of them.


	7. Strange Neighbours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Stranger is in town and Martin and Isaiah take it upon themselves to deal with it. Meanwhile, Jon airs his views on Martin's well-being and makes a personal decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Does a little dance* We are now at the point where we need content warnings, since the Magnus Archives is indeed a horror podcast! Woohoo! (Disclaimer: I've never written horror before apart from like two paragraphs a couple of weeks ago so go easy on me)
> 
> CWs:  
> \+ Gun usage  
> \+ The Stranger  
> \+ Descriptions of eye trauma and body horror  
> \+ Pain (Martin is hurting)  
> \+ Mentions of skin tearing/peeling

[EXT. SCOTLAND, A FOREST NEAR THE VILLAGE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[HURRIED FOOTSTEPS AND HEAVY BREATHS THROUGH CRUNCHING DIRT AND CRACKING BRANCHES.]

**MARTIN**

Would you slow down for one second!

**ISAIAH**

Ehh… okay, fine.

[FOOTSTEPS CEASE. MARTIN TAKES DEEP BREATHS.]

**MARTIN**

God, you look— you look _awful._ Did you take a fall?

**ISAIAH**

_(Dry)_ Uh, _thanks._ And… it’s a long story.

[HE HACKS A COUGH THEN SIGHS, EXASPERATED.]

Just give me the gun already?

**MARTIN**

Do you even know how to fire a gun?

**ISAIAH**

I know how a gun _works,_ but I’ve never fired one. Yourself?

**MARTIN**

Hmm… more or less the same.

**ISAIAH**

_(Heavy sigh) Great._ I can’t wait to see how this all pans out.

**MARTIN**

Hey, let’s at least _try_ to stay positive, alright? We have no clue what we’re up against here— maybe it won’t be so bad.

[ISAIAH AUDIBLY GRIMACES.]

What is it?

**ISAIAH**

Hand me the recorder?

**MARTIN**

The record— oh, of _course,_ it’s already on. Sure.

[SOME FABRIC SWISHING AND MUFFLING AS IT’S PASSED OVER.]

**ISAIAH**

To be clear, this is _not_ a statement. I’m just telling it like it is. Isaiah Wilcox on the strange new behaviour and presentation of his neighbour Cassandra.

[DESPITE THIS APPARENTLY NOT BEING A STATEMENT, THE SLIGHTEST BIT OF STATIC FADES IN. MARTIN SUCKS IN A BREATH.]

**ISAIAH (NOT-A-STATEMENT)**

I don’t know my neighbours well. For all the talk I’ve done about ‘running the gossip mill’, I’m not very involved with those immediately near me. But even if I don’t keep up with my neighbours, I’m acutely aware of when things are wrong, just in general. And I can tell something is severely wrong with Cassandra. I think we both know exactly what it must be.

There are a few things I know about Cassandra, and one of them is that she likes playing football— well, _liked._ Another is that she had a relatively insignificant clothing style: all plain t-shirts and ratty old joggers. Recently those two details have changed. They’re such miniscule alterations that it seems odd anyone would notice them, especially since she lives alone and I know she doesn’t have many close friends. But _I_ noticed, and it was by a stroke of pure happenstance.

I witnessed the moment she gave up on football. I people-watch in my spare time, out on the road by the moor, so when she wandered out of her home on Sunday with a ball tucked under her arm my focus naturally gravitated towards her. She was wearing the strangest outfit… I don’t know how to describe it. It was heavy and beaded, like a wizard’s from a fantasy book, or something. It was nothing like what she usually went for, and it was about the opposite of what you’d think to wear when playing a sport. She nearly tripped multiple times just stumbling out of the house. I couldn’t help but laugh a bit watching her struggle. _That_ was a mistake. Somehow she heard it and fixed me with the strangest glare that left me feeling unreasonably put off. I get looks like that a lot, but this was… different. Like she knew something about me she had no business knowing.

After staring at me for a few moments she went back to the task at hand, and it was… at first it looked like she’d altogether forgotten how to play the game. She held the ball in front of her with both hands and gracelessly let it fall to the ground in front of her. Then she started moving, and it was as if she’d never played before in her life. No… no, it was worse than that. Her movements were so jerky, it looked like it pained her just to kick the ball with the toe of her foot. I was just thinking about approaching and asking what was the matter when she tripped over the ball and fell onto her face. I yelled in surprise and sprinted right over, and once I was just a few feet away she looked up at me.

I’m not sure how well I can describe what I saw. The first impression I got was to look the other way, but I managed to keep my eyes locked on her. Even so, they burned so badly because her face was just… _wrong._ I could tell she’d punctured something in her right eye when she fell, because it was half-mashed, half-hanging out of her socket. The iris was somehow flashing multiple colors at once, but at the time all I got out of that was how I’d thought her eyes had been blue before. The next second, it was as if my mind couldn’t decide whether she even had eyes in the first place? I wanted to see the facial trauma, but whenever I tried too hard to look her face took on the appearance of… plain white plastic with some dents in it. Like a… well, like a mannequin’s.

I made the connection, and it got even worse from there. My eyes felt molten, like they were moments away from dripping off my own face. She managed to pull herself back onto her own feet, joints creaking all the way, and once she did, all that distortion spread outward. Other things started dripping, too, like her hair, which slid off her scalp like a wig and bunched up in the grass, which in turn set the grass blazing in much the same way, though her clothes stayed untouched through all of it. Once her eyes met mine straight-on I knew that was as much as I would be able to take without maybe killing myself. I turned and ran, and for all she supposedly wanted me to leave her alone… she _followed_ me. I swear she did. I never looked back for fear of what it might do to me, but I could feel her behind me. I think at the start she only wanted me to go away, but she must have seen something in me and… changed her mind.

I ambled through the woods for at least an hour non-stop before heading straight for your place. I think I lost her. Her home is only a few minute’s walk from here, and I can see her living room light is on now.

[STATIC DIES DOWN.]

**ISAIAH**

That’s all.

**MARTIN**

_Well._

**ISAIAH**

Yeah. I think it’s safe to say that wasn’t Cassandra.

**MARTIN**

Yeah, that… hm. That… honestly sounds a lot like the Not-Them, don’t you think?

**ISAIAH**

Sort of? But I’m not so sure it’s the same. Whatever this was had clearly mannequin qualities, whereas the Not-Them is Stranger, but in a different sense of the word.

**MARTIN**

You really think it’s a mannequin? I thought the Circus was destroyed during the Unknowing?

**ISAIAH**

Just because something is a moving mannequin doesn’t mean it’s from the Circus. There wasn’t anything particularly signature or exclusive to the Circus in the first place, honestly. At the end of it all, Orsinov was in a mannequin form, but that doesn’t mean every mannequin is exactly like her.

**MARTIN**

I guess so.

**ISAIAH**

Despite that, there is one thing that all the Strangers do have in common.

[MARTIN MAKES A QUESTIONING NOISE.]  
[ISAIAH GRUNTS WITH SOME EFFORT AS IF HE’S LIFTING SOMETHING HEAVY.]

 _(Determined)_ They all hate firearms. Come on, let’s go.

[FOOTSTEPS PICK UP AGAIN AS THEY BOTH START TRUDGING DOWN THE HILL.]

**MARTIN**

What— so that’s your plan, then? Just waltz right up to them and try to blow their stuffings out?

**ISAIAH**

Yeah, sure. Why not?

**MARTIN**

Oh, come on! You just spent five minutes going on about how one of these things tried to _kill you!_

**ISAIAH**

Well, the Cassandra-thing did.

**MARTIN**

And how do you know the other ones won’t try to do that, as well?

[ISAIAH TAKES A FEW MOMENTS TO THINK TO HIMSELF, HUMMING ALONG THE WAY.]

**ISAIAH**

Let’s put it this way. How would you describe the Stranger? Just, in general.

**MARTIN**

Oh, easy. It’s uncanny valley. Things that feel just slightly off, that feed your paranoia.

**ISAIAH**

Right. It’s a pretty passive thing, until it isn’t. That creeping sense of unease is _exactly_ the point. What better way to get under one’s skin than to draw it out?

**MARTIN**

So you think these things aren’t an immediate threat?

**ISAIAH**

Until we make the first move, no. In all honesty, I don’t think they’d hold any particular interest in either of us… well, at least not in you. They’re here for the Archivist, and I’m honestly not sure they’re aware of your connection to him. Whereas someone who knew better might be able to use you against him to get what they wanted, to the Stranger you’re just… a guy.

**MARTIN**

Hmm. Makes sense, I, I guess. But why… would they be interested in _you,_ then?

**ISAIAH**

_(Very obviously pretending to be distracted)_ Hmm, what?

**MARTIN**

Come on, don’t play dumb. You said they might be more interested in you, why is that?

**ISAIAH**

I-it’s all part of the ‘gossip mill, connections’ thing. That’s all.

**MARTIN**

_(Unconvinced)_ Riiight. You’re a terrible liar, you know that?

**ISAIAH**

I’m sure I have no idea what you’re on about.

**MARTIN**

_(Laughing)_ Sod.  
…  
You’re going to tell me more about that eventually, alright? You’re doing a terrible job trying to cover up your spooky misdoings.

**ISAIAH**

_(Disgusted) God,_ that _word._

**MARTIN**

_(Teasing)_ What, spooky?

**ISAIAH**

Please, no… I’ve heard it far too many times already.

[MARTIN STARTS TO RESPOND, BUT IS PROMPTLY CUT OFF BY ISAIAH HUSHING HIM.]  
[FOOTSTEPS CEASE.]

Alright, this is her house.

**MARTIN**

You’re sure she’s in there?

**ISAIAH**

Positive.

[THE CLICK OF A GUN’S SAFETY COMING OFF. MARTIN BURBLES.]

It’s easy, right? Just aim, pull the trigger, everyone walks away happy.

**MARTIN**

Wait, really? We’re actually doing this?

**ISAIAH**

No, _you’re_ doing this. This thing wants _me_ dead.

[MARTIN SCOFFS LOUDLY, BUT IT IS VERY CLEARLY A THING OF FEAR.]

**MARTIN**

So— what, you’re just, just— tossing me into the fray and hoping it goes alright?!

**ISAIAH**

You’ll be fine! Probably. Think of this as the test round. The rest of these I’ll help you with, alright? But this one’s on you.

[MARTIN BREATHES VERY, VERY SHAKILY.]

**MARTIN**

…Okay. Sure.

[TENTATIVE STEPS FORWARD, CRUNCHING LIGHTLY THROUGH FOLIAGE.]

**ISAIAH**

Don’t get too close, and stay in the shadows.

**MARTIN**

_(Hushed)_ Is that her in the window?

**ISAIAH**

_Yes!_ Now, be quick, before she sees—

[HE IS CUT OFF BY A SCREECHING, DISTORTED NOISE COMING FROM THE HOUSE.]

**MARTIN**

_Shit!_

[TWO GUNSHOTS IN QUICK SUCCESSION, ACCOMPANIED BY SHATTERING GLASS.]

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Hello. You’re listening? Good.

[THE ARCHIVIST COUGHS.]

My name is Jonathan Sims, the Archivist— of course, you already know that. I’ve decided I’m going to start making these sorts of recordings as… as a form of recreation. To help organize my thoughts, maybe? I-I don’t know, it sounded sort of— idiotic in my head, but it’s the next best thing to getting a therapist, I hope.

For now, all I can think to talk about is what my life has been like lately. It’s been… okay, actually. _(A small laugh)_ I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve felt this way. Just happy. Carefree. There are still plenty of things worth worrying about, of course, and my hunger for live statements is… a challenge to manage, to say the least, but it could be worse. It certainly helps having Martin here, if not to keep me in check then to make sure I’m feeling alright, just in general.

 _(Sigh)_ A part of me worries he feels like he’s… obligated, to provide me with his care. I can tell he feels guilty about our first couple of weeks here. I mean, neither of us expected his recovery from the Lonely to be an easy or linear thing. He struggled a lot those first two weeks. I’m glad the worst of it seems to be over with. Even so, I worry about its return. It seems only inevitable it’ll come back for him, and whenever I leave his side these days it’s the first thing on my mind.

That feels selfish to admit— and maybe it is. I just— I don’t want him to… hurt more. And I _do_ want to trust him. _I trust him._ But… I can’t help worrying, can I? I know he’s smart, smarter than many people give him credit for. I’ve learned that so much in the few weeks we’ve been here together, amongst other ways I’ve come to lowercase-s see him. Even so, I know that being smart doesn’t always mean you make the most logical choices, especially when it comes to yourself.

Martin is often selfless, to a T. And that’s not good. It’s led me to become passively greedy with him in the past, and him to give pieces of himself away until he nearly lost himself completely.

[WHEN HE CONTINUES, HE SPEAKS QUIETER AND HUSHED, DESPITE HIM BEING ALONE.]

He’s been going off on his own more frequently than he had been a week or two ago. I’m not sure what’s changed. Does it have something to do with the ritual, with the Lonely? Or am I just looking too far into things? I’m not sure. I hate not knowing. I… I guess, technically I _could,_ but…

[HE GRIMACES AND HUFFS OUT A PAINED SOUND.]

 _No._ No, I can’t do that. The Eye wants me… to See. It wants me to Know him. If it were anyone else, then maybe I would. That feels awful to admit, but Martin is _different_ from everyone else. He’s… he’s the only one who sees me as a person anymore, I think. I can’t jeopardize that, just as much as I can’t breach his trust. I already did that once with the tapes. I can’t do it again.

[A LONG FEW MINUTES OF SILENCE.]

 _(Decisively)_ I’m going to have to _trust Martin._

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[EXT. SCOTLAND, THE FOREST BY THE VILLAGE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]

[IMMEDIATELY, WE ARE MET WITH THE SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING AND PAINED GROANS.]

**MARTIN**

_Just get the damn thing on already!_

**ISAIAH**

I know, I know— give me a second!

[THERE’S A TEARING SOUND, LIKE A BANDAGE BEING PULLED FROM A ROLL.]  
[MARTIN BITES DOWN A SCREAM.]

God, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Just— hang on.

**MARTIN**

That _can’t_ be how you’re meant to patch these things up!

**ISAIAH**

Yeah, well I’m _trying,_ alright?!

**MARTIN**

That thing tore part of my _skin_ off! Trying isn’t good enough! Oh, God, what if they’re going to use it for something?

**ISAIAH**

They _won’t._ All the Strangers in this part of the town are dead, or as much as they can be. Dragging them into the loch seems like a pretty effective way to get rid of them.

**MARTIN**

Heh— one can only hope. Ohh, _fuck…_

[SHIFTING FABRIC.]

**ISAIAH**

You good to stand?

**MARTIN**

I-it’s on my leg, what do you think?!

**ISAIAH**

You didn’t lose a _bone,_ for Christ’s sake, it’s six square inches of skin! You’ll be fine.

**MARTIN**

I’ll have you know, I am particularly sensitive to pain, and, and especially _getting my skin peeled off_ , sorry if I’m to bitch about it, Mr. “I-can’t-get-too-close-to-the-mannequin-monsters-for-dubious-reasons”.

**ISAIAH**

Oh, just— shut up about it, okay? We’re almost done. I think all the rest of them should be over there.

**MARTIN**

What, the Hendrickson farm? Seriously?

**ISAIAH**

A mostly uninhabited barn makes for an ideal place to lie low. It’s secluded, they won’t know what’s coming.

**MARTIN**

Assuming they don’t have some sort of hive mind telepathy thing going on.

**ISAIAH**

_(Snort)_ Not their thing. Come on, let’s go.

[FOOTSTEPS PICK UP.]  
[MARTIN AUDIBLY WINCES, BUT CONTINUES WITHOUT A FUSS.]

**MARTIN**

We— _(Whimper)_ we ran out of bullets with the last one.

**ISAIAH**

Yeah? And?

**MARTIN**

We can’t exactly shoot them without any bullets.

**ISAIAH**

Yeah, I know. That’s why we’ve got this.

[ZIPPER BEING PULLED QUICKLY OPEN.]  
[MARTIN GASPS.]

**MARTIN**

You had explosives… this _whole time?!_

**ISAIAH**

Couldn’t exactly use them before, could we? Not when we were sharp-shooting through peoples’ windows.

**MARTIN**

It would have been nice to know we had that when the bloody river mannequins were tearing off my flesh!

**ISAIAH**

I forgot, okay? And we couldn’t exactly get away with that without drawing any attention to ourselves.

**MARTIN**

But _now_ drawing attention to ourselves is okay.

**ISAIAH**

Yes. I don’t see why not, this should be the last of them anyway. We set it off, go our separate ways, no one will know any better.

**MARTIN**

_(Unconvinced) Sure._ This plan sounds much simpler than it actually is.

**ISAIAH**

It _is_ simple. Explosions are easy! Much easier than guns are.

**MARTIN**

Are you out of your mind?!

**ISAIAH**

Oh, shut up. Really, it’s nothing to worry about!

[MARTIN SIGHS, DEFEATED.]

**MARTIN**

…Fine. It’s getting dark, let’s just get this over with as soon as possible.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Martin "fuck" counter: 1  
> I am a firm supporter of let Martin say fuck!!!
> 
> This is part one of two of this whole situation. I would have given this and the next chapter the same title with "Pt.1" and "Pt. 2" slapped onto the ends, but they ended up being pretty thematically different so I decided against it (you'll see what I mean).
> 
> EDIT: I did a sketch of the end of scene 1 [https://sta.sh/0cvt5vv4dwi] Maybe I just wanted to draw Martin holding a gun. Oh the power that holds. Also Isaiah face claim (but he can look however you want, this is an audio transcript fic after all)


	8. Night Over the Moor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes up a new hobby. Meanwhile, an unexpected surprise awaits Martin and Isaiah on the last leg of their purge of the Strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super proud of this one, mostly for the pacing which feels stilted and a few things that feel forced, but whatever (this is all just for fun, anyways). Besides, I've just finished writing the next chapter and I really enjoy how that one turned out, so at least there's that to look forward to.
> 
> CWs:  
> \+ The Dark  
> \+ Pain and peril (Martin. Again! Poor boy)

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]

**ARCHIVIST**

“On the Top-Stone” by Joseph Campbell. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.

[STATIC RISES.]

**ARCHIVIST (RECITAL)**

> On the top-stone.  
>  A nipping wind blowing.  
>  Winter dusk closing in from the south Ards.  
>  The moon rising, white and fantastic, over the loch and the town below.  
>  I take off my hat, salute her, and descend into the darkness.

**ARCHIVIST**

Derivative and continuation of inspiration by the Archivist, who curates all thoughts and things.

[STATIC RISES LOUDLY AND PLATEAUS.]

**ARCHIVIST (RECITAL)**

> A top-stone: one which rests high above all else.
> 
> Away from many and all apart from Vast and Web and Watchful Eye.  
>  Leading with a downward movement into suffocation.  
>  Where no light may reach is where he lies away from all that is true.  
>  A top-stone of his own steeped in dereality.
> 
> No-one may call his name lest it be swallowed by heavy forces of this world.  
>  Better to keep quiet lest they come.
> 
> His breath speaks not of Burial, but of weight once of his being.  
>  Long forgotten, now retrieved.  
>  He knows it not like sorrow, for sorrow is a thing.  
>  This sits still as all but anything at all.
> 
> A top-stone upon his own tempting downward and away.  
>  Feeling nothing and weighing just as much.

[STATIC FADES.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST RELEASES A LONG BREATH.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, it seems the Eye likes poetry now.  
…  
_(Sigh)_ I’m not sure why I started reading this. I felt sort of… floaty, and found myself in front of one of those poetry volumes Martin must have picked up in the village. He _must_ have. I don’t remember seeing this before…

[CHAIR CREAKING AND RUSTLING FABRIC.]  
[A FEW LIGHT FOOTSTEPS.]

It’s getting very dark out.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[INT. SCOTLAND, THE BARN AT HENDRICKSON FARM]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]

[WHEN THEY SPEAK, THEIR TONES ARE WHISPERED.]

**ISAIAH**

Martin! Wake up!

[DUBIOUS SHUFFLING NOISES FROM THE SPACE AROUND THEM.]

_Martin!_

[A SLAP.]  
[MARTIN AWAKES WITH A GASP.]

**MARTIN**

What?! Where—

[ISAIAH HUSHES HIM.]

**ISAIAH**

Be quiet! Just listen.

[BOTH OF THEM HOLD THEIR BREATH.]  
[SURE ENOUGH, IN THE BACKGROUND THERE ARE HUSHED WHISPERS AND A PERSISTENT DRIPPING SOUND.]

**MARTIN**

_(Slightly woozy)_ Where are we?

**ISAIAH**

No clue.

**MARTIN**

Great. _(Sigh)_ You still have the explosives?

**ISAIAH**

Uh… no, I seem to have misplaced them.

**MARTIN**

Damn. Okay, uh— I think I have the lighter in my pocket— here.

[SMALL FABRIC RUSTLES.]

I’m gonna try for some light.

**ISAIAH**

_(Hissing)_ _Be careful._

[MARTIN FLICKS THE TRIGGER OF THE LIGHTER. A SMALL FLAME FLICKERS.]

 _(Sarcastic)_ Wow, how helpful.

**MARTIN**

Well, at least now I know for sure I still have fingers. You?

**ISAIAH**

I’m sure I’m fine, thanks. Come on, let’s go.

[FOOTSTEPS PICK UP.]

**MARTIN**

Go where?

**ISAIAH**

I don’t know! Somewhere. Anywhere but here. Does it matter?

**MARTIN**

_Yes!_

[THE BACKGROUND WHISPERING AND DRIPPING ABRUPTLY STOP. ONLY ONE PAIR OF FOOTSTEPS PERSISTS.]

Wait, did you hear that? It stopped.

[SILENCE.]

Isaiah? _Shit._

[ANOTHER SET OF FOOTSTEPS APPROACHES, FAR TOO QUICKLY.]  
[MARTIN’S BREATHING IMMEDIATELY ESCALATES IN A PANIC. HE, TOO, STARTS RUNNING.]

_No no no no no—_

[A SLAMMING NOISE. MARTIN’S BREATH LEAVES HIM AT THE IMPACT.]  
[THE RUNNING FOOTSTEPS GROW CLOSER UNTIL THEY SUDDENLY STOP.]  
[THERE ARE NOW TWO SETS OF HEAVY BREATHING VERY CLOSE TO EACH OTHER.]

 _(Trembling)_ Please, stay away.

**DAVID**

_(Hissing)_ Who are you?

**MARTIN**

I- I- I, Uh— _(Swallow)_ Who are _you?_

[DAVID _GROWLS._ AN UNSETTLING SQUELCHING RISES.]  
[MARTIN _SCREAMS_ IN SUDDEN PAIN, BUT IT’S EASILY SWALLOWED BY THE SURROUNDING DARKNESS.]

**DAVID**

No questions, Watcher, or we touch you again.

**MARTIN**

_(Catching his breath, wavering)_ Y-yes, yes, I understand.

**DAVID**

Good. _Answer the question._

**MARTIN**

Uhh, J-J-Joseph. Joseph Biros.

**DAVID**

Hmm.

[SQUELCHING INCREASES.]

_Where is the Archivist._

**MARTIN**

I-I don’t— I don’t _know!_

**DAVID**

Why don’t you know?

**MARTIN**

I-I’m not… uhh… I’m, I’m not familiar…

**DAVID**

Don’t play dumb. I can _smell_ it on you.

**MARTIN**

Smell what?

[MARTIN SCREAMS AGAIN.]

**DAVID**

The Eye. It’s been a long time coming for your kind.

[MARTIN BREATHES SHAKILY, THEN DOES A LITTLE ‘OH’ AS IF HE’S HAD A REALIZATION.]

**MARTIN**

O-oh, yes, well. Yeah. I was with the Eye. _Once._ But not since working for Lukas.

**DAVID**

Lukas?

**MARTIN**

Y-yeah. I gave up on the Eye, almost full Lonely now! Heh.

**DAVID**

_(Snarling)_ Prove it.

**MARTIN**

I-I, uh, I don’t know if I can right now—

[HE SWALLOWS ANOTHER SCREAM.]

Okay, okay! Just, just give me a minute. It’s, uh, it’s been a while.

[MARTIN MAKES INTENSE NOISES OF CONCENTRATION.]

Come on, come on, _come on—_

**DAVID**

_(Snarling)_ That’s enough.

[A FOREBODING GURGLING NOISE JOINS IN WITH THE STILL-PERSISTING SQUELCHING.]

**MARTIN**

Oh, _oh,_ my God, no— _no—_

[MARTIN SCREAMS A HORRIFYING THING.]  
[AS HE DOES, FAINTLY, WE HEAR QUICKLY APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS RUNNING TOWARDS THE RECORDER.]

**ISAIAH**

_(Yelling)_ Duck!

[MARTIN HITS THE FLOOR, STILL SCREAMING, WHILE DAVID YELLS.]  
[SOMEWHERE NEARBY, SOMETHING SHATTERS, AND FIRE SPREADS QUICKLY.]

**DAVID**

_No!_

[SQUELCHING INTENSIFIES. MARTIN STOPS SCREAMING IN FAVOR OF WHIMPERING HARSHLY.]

**ISAIAH**

Martin, Come on, get up! I found the door!

[ISAIAH MAKES A NOISE AS IF HE’S BEEN HIT.]

**DAVID**

How _dare_ you show your face here, _Wilcox—_

**ISAIAH**

_(Distressed)_ Martin! Aw, Christ—

[DAVID SNARLS AND HITS ISAIAH WITH AN ‘OOF’. BOTH OF THEIR FOOTSTEPS FLEE FURTHER AWAY.]  
[IT’S NOW MOSTLY QUIET, SAVE FOR THE ROAR OF THE FIRE CLOSE BY.]

**MARTIN**

_(Mumbled)_ Isaiah? Where did… you… oh, fuck.  
…  
The, the fire, it’s…

[HE WHEEZES. FAINT STATIC CRACKLES.]

I can’t… See… anything…

[A DOOR CREAKS LOUDLY OPEN.]

**HELEN**

_Well!_ What a pickle you’ve found yourselves in.

**MARTIN**

Whuh… Helen?

**HELEN**

What do you say, Martin? Need a _hand?_

**MARTIN**

God… Oh, I really shouldn’t…

**HELEN**

_(Sing-song)_ It’s not like you have much of a choice…

[THE FIRE CRACKLES LOUDLY.]

**MARTIN**

_Fine._ Just… don’t pull anything, alright? Or else Jon can—

**HELEN**

Yes, yes, I won’t cross your Archivist, _don’t_ worry.

[SHE LAUGHS.]

Come on in.

[MARTIN GRUNTS, BREATHING HEAVILY.]

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[EXT. SCOTLAND, A FOREST NEAR THE VILLAGE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]

[THERE IS INCOMPREHENSIBLE STATIC FOR A FEW MOMENTS, BUT IT PARSES OUT AS CONVERSATION CONTINUES.]

**ISAIAH**

What did you do to him?

**HELEN**

Nothing! You really think I’d hurt our dear Martin? He’s a treasure!

**ISAIAH**

I think I know better than to trust That-Which-Is-Lies.

**HELEN**

Well, I have _Martin’s_ trust, at least—

[MARTIN SPUTTERS A BREATH AND GOES ON COUGHING.]

There you are! Took you long enough.

**MARTIN**

What… how long has it been?

**ISAIAH**

_(Gentle)_ Just a few minutes since we both got out of there. You good?

**MARTIN**

_(Humorless laugh)_ What do you _think?_ Have you seen my stomach?

**ISAIAH**

Your… oh, _Christ._

**HELEN**

That is _quite_ a nasty rash, Martin!

**MARTIN**

_(Venomously sarcastic)_ Rash? Is it really? I could’ve sworn—

**ISAIAH**

She’s messing with you. That’s the mark of a Dark creature.

[MARTIN GAPES, UNABLE TO FORM WORDS.]  
[ISAIAH SHUDDERS.]

I would have been perfectly content to go all my life without crossing one of those…

**MARTIN**

_(Proper mad)_ Sorry— why was there a bloody creature of the Dark in the barn that we _specifically_ went towards to kill the rest of the Strangers?! What, what the _hell_ did you lead us into?!

**ISAIAH**

_(Overlapping)_ I didn’t know, okay?! I suspected that David Hendrickson _might_ be Dark aligned, but I hadn’t suspected he’d have that strong of a connection to his patron— and he should have been out of town at a convention! It was already nighttime when we got there, anyways, so what do you want me to say?!

**MARTIN**

_(Snarling)_ I want you to apologize for somehow managing to get me marked _twice in one day._

**ISAIAH**

Right. Um… sorry about that.

**MARTIN**

_I don’t forgive you._

[HELEN CLAPS HER HANDS TOGETHER LOUDLY.]

**HELEN**

_Right!_ Now that you girls are done fighting—

[MARTIN AND ISAIAH PROTEST TO THAT, BUT SHE SPEAKS OVER THEM.]

—We should all consider going on our merry ways. It’s only a matter of time before people start coming around.

**ISAIAH**

_(Disgusted)_ Unfortunately, she has a point.

[ALL THREE OF THEM START WALKING.]

**MARTIN**

Christ, all I want right now is to have a proper lie-down and—  
_(Sudden realization)_ Oh, no. _Jon._ I completely forgot about Jon! How many hours has it been?

**ISAIAH**

Mmm… about… five, give or take.

**MARTIN**

_Crap._ Okay, I need to get going home. You two, uh— s, scram.

**HELEN**

Are you sure? You are looking a little worse for wear.

**MARTIN**

I’ll be… fine. I’ll be fine. I’ve— I’ve suffered worse.  
…  
Alright, maybe not physically, but— oh, you get it. I need to go back on my own.

**ISAIAH**

And why is that? You both know… _this_ one pretty well, don’t you, I don’t see why she couldn’t—

**MARTIN**

—No, I— _(sigh)_ he can’t see either of you. He can’t know I was involved in anything… _weird_ tonight.

**ISAIAH**

_(Scoff)_ How do you— You’re covered in a supernatural rash! Part of your _leg_ is torn off!

**MARTIN**

Well, thankfully, both of those are easily concealable! I can handle it.

**ISAIAH (BACKGROUND)**

_(Muttering)_ You are unbelievable!

**HELEN**

Frankly, Martin, what you choose to keep secret is fine by me. You want to burden your little Archivist like that, go right ahead.

**MARTIN**

I’d hardly call that _burdening_ him—

**HELEN**

—I’d say it is. You really think you can keep this from him forever? Who says he couldn’t Know things about you?

**MARTIN**

I-I have to hope. That that doesn’t happen. It won’t! He’ll never have to know.

**HELEN**

He’s the _Archivist._ It’s his job, to Know things. He’ll figure it out eventually. What will you do when he does?

**MARTIN**

That’s a problem for future Martin.

[HELEN BLOWS OUT A BREATH.]

**HELEN**

Future Martin is _not_ going to appreciate present Martin, but whatever you say…

**ISAIAH**

_(Cutting in)_ He’s coming.

**MARTIN**

What? Coming— here?

**ISAIAH**

The forest? Yeah. Just a minute away.

[SOME FABRIC SHUFFLING.]

Martin— If you really want to keep this all a secret… I’ll play along. But if something like tonight happens again…

**MARTIN**

—You know I can’t promise that.

[ISAIAH BLOWS OUT A BREATH.]

**ISAIAH**

…Right. O-kay. Fine.

**ARCHIVIST (DISTANT)**

Martin?

**ISAIAH**

At least take a month or so off. Please? After all I’ve put you through, that’s the least I can ask of you.

**MARTIN**

Fine. Okay.

**ARCHIVIST (DISTANT)**

_(More urgent)_ Martin!

**HELEN**

Need a shortcut?

**ISAIAH**

No. Screw you.

[FOOTSTEPS PETER OFF INTO THE WOODS.]

**HELEN**

Fair enough. Well, good luck wrangling your boy, Martin.

[A DOOR CREAKS OPEN AND CLOSED.]  
[A FEW MOMENTS LATER, A NEW PAIR OF FOOTSTEPS HURRIEDLY APPROACHES, CRUNCHING OVER LEAVES AND STICKS.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_Martin!_ Is that— is that you?

[MARTIN LAUGHS BREATHILY.]

**MARTIN**

Yeah, Jon. It’s me.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, oh, oh—

[FABRIC RUSTLES.]

Where have you, ah— th-there was a, an explosion, not long ago. I’m assuming you saw that?

**MARTIN**

Uhh, y-yeah, I saw it from a ways away. Must have been a gas fire, or something.

**ARCHIVIST**

A-and you’re not hurt?

**MARTIN**

_(Lightly)_ No, Jon, I’m fine. I was just in the woods, really.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes. Hunting.

**MARTIN**

_(Chipper)_ Yes!

[THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS HEAVILY.]  
[BOTH OF THEM START UP THE HILL.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Catch anything?

**MARTIN**

Heh— no, actually. Though it was my first attempt, so I don’t really know what else I expected—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Sudden)_ Martin, you’re limping.

**MARTIN**

I— uh? _(Nervous laugh)_ Honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to notice that.

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A SYMPATHETIC NOISE.]

It’s noth— actually, no it’s, uh, pretty bad. I, uh— I nicked my leg on a log or something, and it sort of… it got some of my skin…?

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh. That sounds extremely unpleasant!

**MARTIN**

Uh, yeah…

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Soft)_ I-I’m glad you’re okay.

**MARTIN**

Yeah. Yeah, I will be.

[FABRIC RUSTLES.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Tell you what— we get home, I’ll patch that up properly and I can practice my Blackwood-level tea-making skills. Yes?

**MARTIN**

Jon, I’d be perfectly fine making the—

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A STUBBORN NOISE OF REFUSAL.]  
[MARTIN HUFFS FONDLY.]

…Alright. I _suppose_ I can let you do it just this once…

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, and, and promise me no more hunting for the time being?

**MARTIN**

…Right. I…

[HE SIGHS HEAVILY.]

Yeah. Of course.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated Martin "fuck" counter: 2
> 
> The injury described that Martin sustains, the "weird rash", is based off of the monster in MAG 86, Tucked In. The injuries that statement giver receive are never actually described so I took creative liberties. I'm pretty unfamiliar with the Dark as a whole so I sort of just went along with that lol. And Jon's Dark poetry-thing at the start might be a bunch of nonsense, but it was my best attempt to describe the emotions I think might be associated with the Dark.
> 
> I feel a little awkward shoving the Stranger and the Dark into one day for Martin, but then again Jon met Jude and Mike and was kidnapped by Daisy all in, like, a couple of days or something so I'd say it was a plausible writing decision on my part. Some build-up would have been nice, I'll admit, but who says we won't see more of David Hendrickson in the future...
> 
> ALSO: I wrote a short thing of Jon taking care of Martin not long after the end of this chapter, you can find it here: [https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259456]


	9. Nothing There Worth Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Basira catch up, and Martin and Isaiah need to have a talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for the special abundance of brackets in this one, haha

[EXT. SCOTLAND, THE LOCAL VILLAGE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]

[THE GUSTING WIND IN THE BACKGROUND IS SIGNIFICANTLY MUFFLED BY SOME SORT OF WALL.]  
[PHONE RINGS A FEW TIMES BEFORE SOMEONE PICKS UP ON THE OTHER END.]

**BASIRA**

Martin? Hey.

**ARCHIVIST**

Ah— a, actually, it’s me.

**BASIRA**

Oh! Hey, Jon. It’s been a while.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes… it really has, hasn’t it? How long, exactly? Was it…

**BASIRA**

Eight weeks, give or take.

**ARCHIVIST**

Wow, has it really?

**BASIRA**

Yes, really.

Anyway, why no Martin? I’m surprised to see you volunteering to head into the village all on your lonesome, given all the talk he’s been doing about your hunger struggles.

**ARCHIVIST**

Hmm… yes, that’s actually sort of what this is about.

**BASIRA**

Oh?

**ARCHIVIST**

Y, yes. Um, the lack of Martin, I mean. Uh, just, a few days ago, there was— , _(sigh)_ there was an explosion at a farm nearby. It was… pretty large, actually, surprisingly so.

**BASIRA**

Whoa.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, w-well. The thing with that is— I’m having difficulty chalking it up to just a, a work accident or something related.

**BASIRA**

How so?

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, first of all, I am not exaggerating when I say it was large. I noticed it easily from a few miles away. And it was just… I mean, what warrants an explosion like that at a family farm all the way out here, really? Martin suggested a gas fire, but— oh, I don’t know.

**BASIRA**

You’re suggesting it was intentional.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Anxious)_ Mmm… m, maybe? I, I mean, it certainly _seems_ that way, doesn’t—

**BASIRA**

Cool it, Jon. Are you sure you’re not working yourself up over nothing?

**ARCHIVIST**

What— _Basira!_

**BASIRA**

Hey, hey! I’m not saying you’re lying, I’m just trying to get you to consider every angle before you jump right off the deep end.

**ARCHIVIST**

Hmm.

**BASIRA**

Have you tried knowing anything about what happened?

**ARCHIVIST**

I, I’m not sure if I should.

**BASIRA**

Why not? If you Know things sparingly, I’m sure it would be fine.

**ARCHIVIST**

No, it’s not quite that, it’s… _(sigh)_ Well, there are a few things that factor into this— the Knowing. One of them being that the more I reach out to the Eye, the more aware I grow of those near me who have a story to tell. And there are… surprisingly more cases around here than I’d have expected. But that’s beside the point.

**BASIRA**

Ah.

**ARCHIVIST**

The other being that I am reluctant to interact with the Eye any more than I have to, and that even applies to simply reaching out and trying to Know more about slightly unnatural occurrences that might add up to absolutely nothing of note. And, and if they _do_ add up to something, it just ends up feeding the Eye, which is much, much worse for obvious reasons. It’s already hard enough, having to distract myself constantly so as not to let things slip in. So… no, I don’t think I… I don’t think I want to do that, no.

[A BRIEF PAUSE. BASIRA HUMS.]

**BASIRA**

That makes sense. I, uh, I hope you know I would never want to push you to do something you didn’t want to—

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, no, it’s alright, I, I mean, I can definitely see the… appeal of utilising those abilities? I don’t there’s any shame in… wanting to use them, theoretically.

**BASIRA**

Still. Please don’t feel obligated to use them, even if it’s for good or safety.

**ARCHIVIST**

…Right.

**BASIRA**

Really, though, why no Martin? He didn’t… he didn’t get, um. Blown up. Did he?

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A PATHETIC LITTLE CHOKING NOISE.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Basira, could you please not—

**BASIRA**

Oh— s, sorry, I didn’t mean to—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Overlapping)_ Martin is completely fine! Well, ah. He is… rather injured, actually, but it’s nothing to do with the explosion I mentioned.

**BASIRA**

Oh, alright.

**ARCHIVIST**

Y, yes. He, um, seems to have tripped on a branch of some sort and had part of his… skin torn off. We’re… pretty reluctant to go striding into any hospitals anytime soon, but I think I was able to patch it up fairly effectively. He also had, uh— A couple days ago I noticed a pretty nasty rash on his stomach, too. He suspects poison ivy.

**BASIRA**

Wow. Uh, I hope he feels better soon.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Soft)_ I’ll be sure to tell him that.

…

Um… may I, uh, may I ask about Daisy? Have you had any luck? Martin hasn’t told me anything, so…

**BASIRA**

Oh. Yeah, uh. For the most part there hasn’t been anything to… tell. He does ask, if you’re wondering, but it seems like it’s for you more than him. Can’t blame him for that, honestly. The Daisy _he_ knows tried to kill you.

**ARCHIVIST**

She’s— she’s not like that anymore. Ah, I mean, she, uh, she wasn’t. I don’t know…

**BASIRA**

Yeah. Again, can’t really blame him. But, uh, it’s been looking up, actually.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh. R, really?

**BASIRA**

Yeah, I’ve managed to track her down. Her trail has… not been easy to follow. I think it’s because she’s currently hunting. You, uh, you know Julia Montauk?

**ARCHIVIST**

Y, yes, of course.

**BASIRA**

Yeah, well, she’s dead. Daisy got her during the attack on the Institute. As far as I can tell, she’s going after the other one now.

**ARCHIVIST**

Trevor Herbert.

**BASIRA**

Yeah. Honestly, by this point I’m probably better off calculating his trail rather than Daisy’s. It’s not like he’s moving very gracefully, mostly just running.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes.

**BASIRA**

I think I’ll get on that soon, actually. I’ll let you know next time of any updates.

**ARCHIVIST**

O-of course. Basira, if there’s anything either of us can do to—

**BASIRA**

_Don’t._ Really, if I can avoid getting either of you involved, I’ll do whatever I can to keep it that way. You’ve got a lot hanging over your heads still, I can’t let this be another thing you have to worry about.

**ARCHIVIST**

I— alright, whatever you say.

**BASIRA**

Right. Oh, uh, by the way, there should be more statements headed your way, they might even be there already. Go check when you have the time.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh! Okay, thank you. Uh, you haven’t— you haven’t seen Elias— Jonah around at all, have you?

**BASIRA**

Not at all. I could go looking, but Daisy—

**ARCHIVIST**

—Is more important right now. No, I get it.

[BASIRA HUFFS.]

**BASIRA**

I— it’s not that she’s more _important,_ Jon, it’s just—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Overlapping) I know,_ Basira, I get it. I’m not mad, really. I’m sure it’s— it’s fine. Jonah sent us a letter and it doesn’t _seem_ like he’s planning on coming our way anytime soon. I’m not worried, just curious.

**BASIRA**

…Alright. If you say so.

[A PAUSE.]

**ARCHIVIST**

O-oh, um, is there any chance you’ve been in any sort of contact with Melanie and, a-and Georgie?

**BASIRA**

Mmm, no. Melanie seems to be keeping her distance. I haven’t reached out.

**ARCHIVIST**

Al-alright. If you do— speak to her, that is— can you tell her I said hello? And, and that I hope she’s having a good recovery. Martin, too.

**BASIRA**

Uh, sure. I’ll keep that in mind.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Overlapping)_ A-and also, Martin went out and got us both burner phones a while back, so if you ever need to get in touch—

**BASIRA**

Oh. That might be helpful, actually. Call me on them a bit from now? I’ll pick up and work on memorizing your numbers.

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, alright. Th-thank you, Basira. Really.

**BASIRA**

Yeah. I’ll talk to you later, Jon. See you.

[THE CONNECTION CUTS OUT.]  
[A _CLUNK_ AS THE PHONE IS PLACED BACK DOWN.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST EXHALES DEEPLY.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Alright. Post office it is, then.

[SLIGHT FABRIC RUSTLES.]  
[A DOOR CREAKS OPEN AND CLOSED AGAIN.]  
[SOUNDS OF BLOWING WIND RISE IN VOLUME.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST’S FOOTSTEPS CLOP LOUDLY OVER COBBLE FOR NO LONGER THAN TEN SECONDS.]  
[THEN, THE CREAK OF AN OPENING AND CLOSING DOOR ACCOMPANIED BY THE _DING_ OF A BELL.]  
[BLOWING WIND SUBSIDES.]

Hello?

[CLOPPING OF ONE SET OF BOOTS ON TILE.]

Hmm. Strange. I— oh. Um. Hmm.

[A FEW SPORADIC POPS OF STATIC.]  
[HE SMACKS HIS LIPS, ALMOST AS IF HE’S… SALIVATING.]

Oh. Oh, wow— that’s—

[THE SUDDEN TINNY BLARE OF A RING TONE.]  
[HE FUMBLES THROUGH HIS POCKETS BEFORE PICKING UP.]

Martin?

[MARTIN’S VOICE IS TOO QUIET TO COME THROUGH FULLY, BUT WE CAN HEAR HIM STRINGING TOGETHER WORDS.]

Ah, y, yes, I was just stepping into the post office, actually. Basira said—

[MARTIN CUTS HIM OFF.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES AN INTRIGUED LITTLE NOISE.]

Really? It’s honestly no trouble, I’m down here anyway, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t—

[MARTIN CUTS HIM OFF AGAIN. THIS TIME, HIS VOICE SOUNDS GENTLER.]

Mmm… erm. Sort of. Yes, sort of— a-a lot, actually, this was one was… _(breathy laughter)_ a _lot._

[MARTIN SPEAKS, SCOLDING.]

Yes, yes, I, I know, you’re right.

[MORE CHATTER.]

Are you sure?

[MARTIN MAKES AN AFFIRMATIVE NOISE.]

Alright, if you say so. 

[MORE CHATTER.]

Okay. Yes, I’m coming home now.

[FOOTSTEPS CLOP BACK OVER THE TILE MOMENTARILY, THEN HALT.]  
[SOME MUTTERING FROM THE OTHER END.]

_(Smiling)_ I love you, too. Bye.

[A DULL BEEP AS THE CALL ENDS.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS, BUT IT’S A HALF-HEARTED, DISSATISFIED THING.]  
[A TORRENT OF STATIC POURS IN.]

_(Regarding the room at large)_ Don’t think I can’t See you in there. The next time you’re hiding, don’t breathe quite so loud. You got lucky.

[THE FRONT DOOR CREAKS OPEN WITH THE DING OF A BELL, AND THE RUSHING WIND FROM OUTSIDE PICKS UP.]

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[INT. SCOTLAND, THE LOCAL POST OFFICE, ABOUT A WEEK LATER]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]

[THE BELL ABOVE THE DOOR RINGS AS IT CREAKS OPEN. THE WIND IS BLOWING LESS THAN IT USUALLY DOES, BUT A SOFT BREEZE STILL FILTERS IN.]  
[THE DOOR SWINGS CLOSED AS HEAVY FOOTSTEPS MAKE THEIR WAY ACROSS TILE, PURPOSEFUL.]

**MARTIN**

Isaiah? Isaiah, I know you’re back there.

[SILENCE. MARTIN SIGHS.]

It’s just me. I promise.

[A VERY LOUD, WEARY SIGH ECHOES FROM AROUND A CORNER. ANOTHER PAIR OF BOOTS CLOPS ACROSS THE FLOOR NOT LONG AFTER.]

**ISAIAH**

…Sorry. I’ve been a bit on edge, since he came in.

**MARTIN**

You’re already assuming we’re talking about the same thing?

**ISAIAH**

Well, yes. What else would it be? I heard him speaking to you.

[A TENSE SILENCE, WITH NOTHING BUT THE SOUNDS OF BOTH OF THEIR BREATHING.]

**MARTIN**

_(Frustrated)_ Care to share with the class? Why he told me _this_ one was, quote, “a lot”?

**ISAIAH**

N, now really isn’t the best time for that—

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping) Usually,_ usually— lately, that is— he’s gotten very good at dragging himself away from people with stories. But _this?_ We both heard him, he was— he was nearly _salivating._ What was that _for?_

**ISAIAH**

I don’t know, Martin. Does it have to mean anything?

**MARTIN**

_Yes!_ It does! Because you keep hinting about this ~mysterious role~ of yours, and I am damn well sick of it! You make absolutely zero sense! One moment you’re popping out of nowhere, giving cryptic warnings that just sound like— _weird threats,_ the next you’re, you’re grabbing me by the shoulders, making me promise to take _care_ of myself for a month? Just— what is your _problem?!_

**ISAIAH**

T-to be fair, those two encounters were a lot longer than moments apart—

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping) SHUT UP!_ Just— shut up! I can’t handle this anymore!

[SOMETHING LIKE A FIST SLAMS AGAINST A COUNTER.]

You made me promise to rest. And I have been! So, now it’s time for you to pay it back.

**ISAIAH**

_(Nervous laughter)_ I-I don’t think that’s a very smart idea—

[MARTIN SLAMS HIS HAND DOWN AGAIN, RAISING HIS VOICE.]

**MARTIN**

_  
**ISAIAH!**   
_

[ISAIAH SUCKS IN A SHARP BREATH THROUGH HIS TEETH.]  
[MARTIN GROANS, BUT DOESN’T LOSE STEAM.]

_(Low)_ The next time we meet, we are going to have a _talk._ A proper talk, alright, and you are going to share out.

[ISAIAH BREATHES IN AS IF TO SPEAK, BUT MARTIN PROMPTLY CUTS HIM OFF.]

No. I’m done playing your games. You think I can’t tell you’re hiding things? It’s so painfully obvious, I’m not— I’m not stupid. I have a few ideas, actually, but, but that’s beside the point. _Promise_ me.

[SILENCE, EVEN WITHOUT THE BREATHING THIS TIME.]

**ISAIAH**

Alright. Yes— okay. You’re right. You deserve an ex— a _couple_ of explanations.

**MARTIN**

_(Humorless laugh)_ That’s putting it mildly.

**ISAIAH**

I— I can’t promise to tell you everything—

[MARTIN SUCKS IN A BREATH, BUT ISAIAH BARRELS ON.]

_—but,_ I’ll share what I can. Realistically. Without— without getting into too much trouble.

[A FEW MOMENTS OF FURTHER SILENCE.]  
[THEN, SLIGHT FABRIC SHIFTING.]

_(Incredulous)_ A pinkie promise, are you _serious?_

**MARTIN**

_(Grumbling)_ Just shut up and do it.

[ISAIAH HUFFS.]

**ISAIAH**

Fine.

[FURTHER FABRIC SHIFTING AS THEY SHAKE.]

_(Flat)_ Anyway. Your mail. Two this time, not just the one.

**MARTIN**

Oh.

[HE LAUGHS, MORE FREELY THAN HE’S DARED TO SO FAR.]

Yeah, I’d, I’d completely forgotten about those, honestly.

**ISAIAH**

Here.

[PACKAGES SLIDING OVER THE COUNTER.]

**MARTIN**

Thanks.

[A ZIPPER BEING PULLED OPEN, THEN SLIGHT FABRIC RUSTLES.]  
[MORE TENSE SILENCE.]

_(Genuine)_ Sorry. Was that all a bit much?

**ISAIAH**

_(Choked laugh)_ Maybe a bit, but I won’t say it wasn’t warranted. You’re— you’re right.

**MARTIN**

_(Wistful)_ You know, part of me really thought we could be friends. I think I might still want that.

**ISAIAH**

_(Quiet)_ But you still don’t know if you can trust.

**MARTIN**

_(Mirroring his tone)_ Yeah.

[ISAIAH LAUGHS HALFHEARTEDLY, HANDS SLIDING OVER THE SMOOTH COUNTER TOP.]

**ISAIAH**

That’s understandable. I get it, you know? I wouldn’t trust me, either.

**MARTIN**

…Next time, then. You’ll tell me.

[ISAIAH EXHALES VERY LONG AND HARD.]

**ISAIAH**

Yes. Next time.

**MARTIN**

Good.

[FOOTSTEPS CLOP BACK TOWARDS THE DOOR BEFORE SUDDENLY PAUSING.]

And don’t go disappearing on me, alright? That wouldn’t be very fair. Or… friendly. Or trustworthy.

**ISAIAH**

_(Soft laughter)_ I won’t. Mind, it might take a while. But… I won’t leave outright. _(Muttering)_ Don’t think I could, anyway.

**MARTIN**

Sure thing. I can wait… I think.

[WITH THAT, THE DOOR CREAKS OPEN, DINGS, AND SLAMS SHUT AGAIN.]  
[THE TAPE CONTINUES WHIRRING.]  
[ISAIAH AUDIBLY MAKES A FACE AT… _SOMETHING_ IN THE ROOM.]

**ISAIAH**

Oh, don’t give me that look. He doesn’t need to know.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to everyone who's been commenting, especially mothjon, thegayarchives, and Wildshadows, who as far as I can tell are the most recurring commenters. All of your guys' support is a huge motivator for me. Thank you so much!
> 
> Heads up: for once I'm posting before the next chapter is finished (I'm only about 700 words in with that one). I've been less motivated than usual to write this past week, but I'm hoping it gets better soon enough so I can get back to being efficient in moving things along. The next update might be a while longer because I want to try to have a backlog of at least one chapter.


	10. Interlude I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weeks following the explosion at the farm; Jon and Martin take on some new hobbies and read colorful poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy episode release day, folks! It's been a hot minute! Work on this fic has been slow lately (I'm still not finished with the chapter after this one) but I figured it wouldn't hurt to post this one now.
> 
> Not a lot of immediate story stuff happens in this one: it's mostly fluff, although there is a cliffhanger at the end that will lead into some more exciting things next chap B]
> 
> There's only one CW for this, but I'm putting it in the end notes to avoid spoilers (it's fairly mild, but I still thought I'd mention it).

[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]  
[TAPE CLICKS ON.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Hmm.

[CHAIR CREAKS.]

Hello. This is Jonathan Sims, recording: January twelfth, two-thousand and nineteen.

 _(Audibly grinning)_ I can hardly remember ever feeling this… happy. It’s been a soothing few weeks since that strange explosion: four, to be specific. I am aware that I hardly deserve the freedom and kindness the universe has decided to grant me, but I’m certainly not complaining.

 _(Heavy sigh)_ I may as well get the inevitable out of the way, here. There has been… no further correspondence from Jonah, and I can’t decide whether that comforts or harrows me. In a way, this pocket of domesticity we’ve fallen into feels much too good to be true, and I can’t help but fear that it’s meant as some sort of trap. Martin thinks I should calm down, just try to enjoy myself— and I have been! It’s just… difficult. To shake these perceptions of my life I’ve grown so used to. This kind of… eerie tranquility reminds me all too much of the months leading up to our departure from the Institute. It’s a far cry from the insanity leading up to the Unknowing, but I’d argue that this is even worse than all of that. Despite the multiple kidnappings I endured back then, at least they served as some sort of reference point, a, a landmark amongst all the chaos with which I could consider my reality in some semblance of clarity. But this, this position of stasis within an wide, unfamiliar world, with little clue of where anything leads… it is stagnant, at least from what I can see, and that— I cannot say it doesn’t worry me.

That’s not to say I’m not trying to enjoy it where I can, God no. I don’t mean to give the idea that this is something that’s constantly on my mind; if, if anything it’s fallen between the cracks significantly more and more with time. Perhaps that’s why I brought all that up first and foremost— so I could get it out of the way, to try to place a greater emphasis on all the other things in my life right now.

Despite my reluctance to fully indulge in this pocket of peace we’ve created, I have found solace in little things that count. Mainly, in time spent with Martin. _(Fond huff)_ He always seems to be able to find the best in any situation, and has been doing most of the optimistic thinking since we’ve been here. He’s even been able to convince me to get out more than I had before. There is still some risk in going out to town, and my hunger may be getting worse with time, but for now, we’ve found a temporary way for me to keep myself from slipping up when I come across a potential meal. There’s this… old embroidered patch from Martin’s teen years that we found in his duffel, and it has an interesting texture. If I ever feel anything coming on, I can focus on… that, and Martin’s voice, if he’s with me, and it’s just enough for me to be able to pry myself away. It’s still plenty difficult, and hardly reliable, b-but it’s something, at least. I also try to avoid direct eye contact with strangers, if I can help it. With Martin I at least feel like it’s safe enough for me to get a good look, mostly because I seem to have built up some sort of a… weird mental block against him, that makes it more difficult to See or Know anything about him. I’m— _(breathy laugh)_ I’m honestly surprised that’s seemed to have worked? But— I’m not complaining, no, no, of— of course not. Best not to jinx it, anyway.

Um, more specific plans, let’s see… oh! We, uh, we started a garden. Just at the back of the house. It’s a, uh, small thing. Hardly professional, but it’s got. Dirt. A few flowers. Mostly edible things, though, like herbs, because you can’t go wrong there. Martin’s been doing most of the hard work with that one, but, uh, I watch. Appropriate, considering. Hm— yes. I’ve also been writing? It’s mostly nonsense, but it at least gives me _something_ interesting to do with my hands. Reading has been good, too, there’s a bookstore just at the edge of town that’s just far enough away from all the, the _action_ for me to feel safe going there on my own. Christmas has come and gone, as well, just a couple of weeks ago. It was… it was nice. It was really… really nice.

Basira has still been good with sending statements. I’m beginning to wonder when she’ll run out, actually. I’m… uh, I actually haven’t thought about the… logistics of how this has been working out.

[AS HE CONTINUES, STATIC GRADUALLY POURS IN.]

With Peter gone, and Elias supposedly still missing, who has been running the Institute? And what about everyone else who works there, are they just— floating, aimless? As far as I can tell, Basira has been the only one manning the Archives. Has she been taking statements? Writing them, recording them? Where have they been going? What is she going to do when she gets a better handle on Daisy? Who’s going to send the statements then?

[THE ARCHIVIST CUTS HIMSELF OFF. HE BREATHES DEEPLY A FEW TIMES UNTIL THE STATIC MOSTLY DISSIPATES.]

Right— right. _(Swallow)_ Sorry. Still, still working on that. _(Cough)_ Well. Speaking— speaking of statements, I’ve actually, uh, decided to start organizing the ones we have. I’ll admit I may be taking them at a faster rate than is necessary — I’ve really got to start working on that — so we’ve got a pretty substantial collection by this point. _(Heavy sigh)_ We found these… milk crates, out on the side of the road not far from here, and they’re big enough to hold statement stacks. They’re not perfect, but it’s the best we have right now. I’ve even set up a new sorting system of my own. It’s like… our own mini archive, of sorts.

Hmm, what else… oh, yes, now that the threat of imminent doom seems to have subsided for the time being, Martin and I have taken the time and care to properly discuss our relationship, and all that entails. It’s more or less the same as it has been, albeit with a few minor changes. For instance, Martin suggested we both have designated spaces for ourselves, like our own private cabinets. It was a reasonable enough request, especially considering we were thrust into a shared living situation after months of such scarce interaction, and even without all of that I think the extra opportunity for personal space is a good thing. Martin, especially, seems to be enjoying it. It’s a welcome opportunity for me to avoid accidentally going through any more of his poetry, at least. _(Small laugh)_ He seems more relaxed for it, and I’m glad.

Daisy’s whereabouts continue to be an unknown. Basira has been cagey with details, which I can’t really blame her for… though I still worry. I’m meant to be easing off of all of that, so maybe I should just try to forget about it. As much as I am able to, that is. I doubt I’ll ever stop worrying completely.

Apart from statement hunger, the Eye has been surprisingly cooperative lately. I’m honestly a little shocked. It gives me some amount of hope that whatever situation we’ve found ourselves in could be more sustainable than I’d first thought. Even if this doesn’t last forever, I’d like to get as much out of the time we have as I can.

[A LIGHT TAPPING SOUND AGAINST WOOD. THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A STARTLED NOISE.]

**MARTIN**

Oh, sorry, sorry. Was just wondering what we’re feeling tonight?

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, uh, I don’t know, do we still have that left over biryani from last—

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[INT. A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE, SOME TIME LATER]

[A PEN TAPPING AGAINST A TABLE.]  
[MARTIN HUMS NERVOUSLY.]

**MARTIN**

Um… Hi! So, uh, Jon suggested I try recording some of my poetry again, like… like I used to, in the Archives. So… yeah. Al, alright, then. Um, I guess I’ll just— heh—

[HE CLEARS HIS THROAT.]

“Ramshackle” by M. K. Blackwood.

[DURING HIS RECITAL, HE SPEAKS IN A TONE SIMILAR TO THE ‘ARCHIVIST VOICE’: LOW, STEADY, AND MEASURED.]

**MARTIN (RECITAL)**

> Small, dark, and leaning  
>  Against a heavy rain  
>  There’s nothing much to do here  
>  Nothing much to gain
> 
> He stands up strong beside me  
>  And looks it over, too  
>  I fear for what he’s thinking  
>  But he tells me it will do
> 
> I don’t think that I mind it  
>  How wary this place makes me  
>  It wants to fog me over  
>  Flood my mind until it claims me
> 
> But he sees me through it all  
>  Past every tear and cleave  
>  As long as he is with me  
>  I may never want to leave
> 
> There’s comfort in the future  
>  Anticipation in unknowing  
>  I wouldn’t mind to keep it  
>  If it meant this could keep growing
> 
> This home is small and broken  
>  Ramshackle of my soul  
>  My heart is much the same  
>  But we can make it whole

[MARTIN CLEARS HIS THROAT.]

**MARTIN**

_(Awkwardly)_ Okay.

[SHUFFLING PAPERS.]  
[HE LAUGHS.]

God, I really hope he _never_ finds this. I'd never hear the end of it.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[INT. A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE, SOME TIME LATER]

**ARCHIVIST**

“Score” by Anaise J. Tillen. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.

[STATIC RISES.]

**ARCHIVIST (RECITAL)**

> We are going to leave it behind  
>  Ourselves in the dirt and rot  
>  Forsaken all that is  
>  Healthy and sane for the union  
>  That we seek
> 
> And all that is not  
>  Will writhe and twist and scream  
>  Without rhyme or reason to stay afloat  
>  For us with no mother  
>  And no home
> 
> To hunger to breathe to sink and sing stories  
>  Not for telling  
>  An experience not mine  
>  But ours together
> 
> How do you love me?  
>  Is it all the same to every part  
>  Or is it sacred and unique?  
>  Do you mean it when you laugh?  
>  Will you love it when you cry?
> 
> I need you  
>  So I’ll have you when you die.

[STATIC DIES DOWN.]

**ARCHIVIST**

I will admit, there is a certain cadence to these poems that tantalizes me, however horrendous the writing styles may be. Or maybe it’s just their contents that are getting to me. Hmm.

This one was brought in by Martin, I believe. He picked up a copy of a locally published poetry book he saw at the market the other night, left it out on the kitchen table, though mostly for decoration, I think. It’s not often I come across any truly _strange_ pieces. This one scratched an itch I hadn’t known I’d had until I caved and recorded it.

[THE ARCHIVIST HUMS.]

I don’t know how I feel about the Eye seeming so eager for me to record these poetry recitals. I suppose if it’s not hurting anyone… I, I don’t know how much reading these equates to taking a regular statement? Will all of these poets see me in their nightmares? I’m going to assume they won’t. I can… I can hope, anyway.

[A HEFTY PAUSE.]

Mmn. I had hoped I’d already had enough Corruption for one lifetime. Seeing it again here was…

[HE MAKES A DISGUSTED SOUND.]

 _(Resigned sigh)_ This was much more filling than the last one of these I read, anyway, the one about the Dark. This time, I didn’t have to make anything up myself. So… I’ll just have to go on with it, I guess.

[SLIGHT PAPER SHUFFLING.]

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[INT. A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE, SOME TIME LATER]

[THE RECORDING IS MUFFLED, LIKE THE RECORDER MANIFESTED SOMEWHERE HIDDEN.]

**ARCHIVIST**

I’m just saying, if we _wanted_ to, it wouldn’t be much of an issue! I’ve had one before, it’s not like we’d be stumbling into it blind—

**MARTIN**

_(Playful)_ —I can’t believe you’ve already brought this up! Tell me, how long has it been since we got here?

**ARCHIVIST**

Umm… uhh, nearly four months, now.

**MARTIN**

Right! If you ask me, that’s way too early!

[THE ARCHIVIST LAUGHS.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Now, hold on, let me make my case— _again—_

**MARTIN**

Jon, we are _not_ getting a cat this early.

**ARCHIVIST**

Wh, why not?

**MARTIN**

I— _(Scoff)_ I, I don’t know! I, I just— it’s, um—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Softer)_ Martin, if you really don’t want to have a cat, we don’t need to get one. It’s only a suggestion.

**MARTIN**

No, no, it’s not that, it’s— aghh.

[SHUFFLING FABRIC.]

How about this. If we’re still here a year from now, we can… _(sigh)_ we can get a cat.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Patient)_ A year?

**MARTIN**

Yeah. Is that alright?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Warm)_ Of course it is, Martin.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

* * *

[CLICK]

**ARCHIVIST**

Supplemental: I don’t think I’d mind it much if things stayed this way for the rest of my life. The lack of friends and connections _is_ somewhat disappointing, but… I think we could get by, if we had to.

[CLICK]

* * *

[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[EXT. A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE, THE BACKYARD]

[SOUNDS OF SHOVELING DIRT AND MARTIN’S HEAVY BREATHING.]

**MARTIN**

_(Muttering)_ Mmm… time, time, togetherness, something something… oscillation… what does that mean, again? Back and… back and forth? Back and forth… right. How can I…

[HE GRUNTS SUDDENLY.]

Bloody carrots. Can’t just— can’t make my life easy at all, can you?

[A WINDOW SLIDES OPEN.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin, would you mind going and fetching some wood from the shed? I’m thinking of starting the fire early tonight, it’s getting rather chilly.

**MARTIN**

Ah! Oh, yeah, of course, just— be back in a sec!

[DIRT CRUNCHES BENEATH HIS FEET AS HE TRUDGES AROUND.]  
[HE HUMS A STILTED, NAMELESS TUNE.]  
[SUDDENLY, HE HALTS BOTH HIS MOVEMENT AND HIS HUMMING.]

 _(Calling)_ Hey… Jon?

[A FEW MOMENTS OF QUIET BEFORE A DOOR CREAKS OPEN A BIT AWAY.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Yes, what is it?

**MARTIN**

Erm… when was the last time you came out to the shed?

[LIGHTLY APPROACHING FOOTSTEPS.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST’S VOICE GRADUALLY DRAWS CLOSER.]

**ARCHIVIST**

I, I don’t know, a week or so, maybe? I don’t see why that would—

[HE ABRUPTLY HALTS, TOO.]

 _(Horrified)_ Oh, God.

**MARTIN**

_(Faint)_ Mmn, is, is that, um, is that what I…

[FAINT BUZZING BUILDS IN VOLUME: IT SOUNDS A BIT LIKE POURING SAND OR GRAVEL.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin…

**MARTIN**

There’s… there’s so _many_ of them…

[THE BUZZING CONTINUES TO RISE, ALONG WITH THE _‘TKTKTKTK’_ OF BUG-LIKE MOVEMENT.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_Martin, **run!**_

[PANICKED, QUICKENING BREATHS PICK UP ALONG WITH THEIR FRANTIC RUNNING FOOTSTEPS.]

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> \+ Mild Corruption content
> 
> The best part of Martin canonically being a mediocre poet is that my own poetry doesn't need to be at all good for me to feel okay posting it for this fic. (The locally sourced poetry book is a good excuse for that same deal, as well)


	11. Infestation (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a pest problem at the safehouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if we were under siege by supernatural fear bugs... and we were both boys...
> 
> Once again, CWs in the end notes!

[TAPE CLICKS ON.]  
[INT. SCOTLAND, A DAISY TONNER SAFEHOUSE]

[THE LOUD, PERSISTENT BUZZING OF TERMITES.]  
[FRANTIC CLATTERING FROM AROUND A CORNER.]

**MARTIN**

Towels— Uh— t, towels, please.

[CLATTERING CEASES.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Um, sorry, what?

**MARTIN**

Get the— get the _towels!_ There are more in the linen closet! _Please!_

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh! Right, sorry!

[FOOTSTEPS STUMBLING AWAY.]

**MARTIN**

_(Mumbling)_ Oh God, oh God, oh God— this— this is…

[HIS BREATHS BECOME SHORT AND STRAINED.]  
[FOOTSTEPS RETURN.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Here, I-I pulled some of the older ones out, and the dirty sheets, too, so it’s… Martin?

[A FARBRIC-Y _‘THUMP’_ AS THE PILE HITS THE FLOOR.]

 _(Gentle)_ Hey. Hey, Martin?

**MARTIN**

_(Trembling)_ Just get it under the door, Jon…

**ARCHIVIST**

O-okay.

[VARIOUS FABRIC-Y MOVEMENTS, THEN A SHUFFLING SOUND.]  
[THE BUZZING RAGES ON OUTSIDE.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST SIGHS.]

Martin?

[MARTIN SUCKS IN A QUICK BREATH.]

**MARTIN**

Is everything all plugged up?

**ARCHIVIST**

Y, y, yes, I believe so. This is… we should be fine.

**MARTIN**

For now.

**ARCHIVIST**

Mmm.

[THEY STEW IN SILENCE FOR A FEW MOMENTS.]  
[THEN, SUDDENLY, MARTIN BEGINS LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY, SOMEWHAT UNHINGED.]

Martin.

**MARTIN**

Sorry, sorry, it’s just— this is all just sort of _perfect!_

**ARCHIVIST**

It’s _what?_

**MARTIN**

_(On the verge of tears)_ We’ve come full circle, haven’t we? This is where it all began for us, and now it’ll also be where it ends.

**ARCHIVIST**

Don’t say things like that.

**MARTIN**

But it’s true, isn’t it? How is this any different than the last time? I, I guess at least now I'm not alone, but that was only half of it, we're still going to be chewed out and turned into— into _living hives,_ and, and—

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin—

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping)_ No, Jon, stop it. Just… just give me a few minutes, alright?

**ARCHIVIST**

…Okay.

[CLICK]

* * *

[CLICK]

[QUIET SAVE FOR THE PERSISTENT BUZZ OF THE TERMITES. AFTER SOME TIME, MARTIN TAKES A DEEP, DETERMINED BREATH.]

**MARTIN**

A-alright. I’m back.

**ARCHIVIST**

Mmm. Good.

[FABRIC RUSTLES.]

So… what do you think you need right now?

**MARTIN**

Hm? Oh, like water, or—

**ARCHIVIST**

No, I just mean… conversationally.

**MARTIN**

…What?

**ARCHIVIST**

I mean, would you like to talk about the termites or anything else?

**MARTIN**

Oh. Um, well, first of all, thank you for asking.

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES AN AFFIRMATIVE NOISE.]

And… as much as it may pain me to do so, maybe we should talk about… _this_ first. Just to get everything in this whole deal… properly sorted. I don't know.

**ARCHIVIST**

A-are you sure? We can wait a little while longer if it would—

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping)_ No, I think I’d rather save the wills and eulogies for _later,_ Jon.

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh. R, right. Sure.

[BOTH TAKE ANOTHER DEEP BREATH.]

So… what do we know?

**MARTIN**

They’re termites.

[THE ARCHIVIST HUMS.]

 _(Wavering)_ And they’re… _really_ big.

**ARCHIVIST**

Stay with me here.

**MARTIN**

Right. Heh, uh, sorry.

 _(Sigh)_ Th-they’re, um, maybe five or six centimetres long each?

**ARCHIVIST**

Close. Kings and queens can grow to more than three centimetres in length, but the regular workers never get much larger than one or two centimetres. With this colony, the workers are the size of regular kings and queens, while the kings and queens are larger still, more like six or seven…

… 

Oh. Sorry.

**MARTIN**

I’m assuming you weren’t a termite connoisseur before just then.

**ARCHIVIST**

Eugh. Please don’t say it like that, but, no… no, I, I wasn’t.

**MARTIN**

_(Drawn-out, sighing)_ Greeeeat.

**ARCHIVIST**

Sorry.

**MARTIN**

Doesn’t matter. But, hey, _(sarcastic)_ at least now we’re more informed!

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, barely. Really, all that tells us is that they’re working much faster than normal sized… termites… would…

[MARTIN SIGHS HEAVILY.]

…Sorry. Again.

[CLICK]

* * *

[CLICK]

[QUIET SAVE FOR THE BUZZING.]

**MARTIN**

You know, I really can’t tell what’s worse.

**ARCHIVIST**

What do you mean?

**MARTIN**

With Prentiss and the worms… I never knew exactly where they could breach through. I lost hours of sleep every night just pacing, triple checking every nook and cranny, never knowing for sure that whenever I turned my head, they wouldn’t come pouring through some spot I’d managed to miss.

But now, I know exactly what they’re capable of, and exactly where they’ll come through. This entire house is just old, rotting wood. Now I know exactly what will happen, with the only surprise being with when they’ll manage to make it through. I’m… not sure which situation I hate more.

**ARCHIVIST**

You’re talking about this like we’ve already lost.

**MARTIN**

Haven’t we? I mean, how are we meant to get out of this? There’s barely any cell service, we have no real neighbours, and, oh, we should place a bet on how long it’ll take them to chew through, just for hell's sake! Two hours, three? Or maybe they’re _especially_ eager and we’ve got less than a minute left!

**ARCHIVIST**

We can’t afford to think like that.

**MARTIN**

Wh-why _not?_ What makes this any different from whatever myriad of times you’ve sat next to me and went on about yourself like you’d be dying the next day? Like it wouldn’t matter, like you were worth nothing?!

…S, sorry. That wasn’t fair.

**ARCHIVIST**

No, I, I get it. I know I’ve not always been the most… _optimistic_ person.

**MARTIN**

Still, it’s no excuse for me being insensitive.

**ARCHIVIST**

I’d hardly call that being insensitive… I’m not sure you could ever be truly insensitive, Martin, even if you tried.

**MARTIN**

I really doubt it, but if believing that puts you at ease…

[CLICK]

* * *

[CLICK]

[IT’S MOSTLY SILENT SAVE FOR THE BUZZING, BUT EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE THERE’S THE CAREFUL THUMP OF FOOTSTEPS TROTTING AROUND THE ROOM, ALWAYS CIRCLING BACK TO WHERE THEY STARTED.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Although I myself am not too fond of giving up hope already, if you want to start writing that eulogy of yours, you can go right ahead.

**MARTIN**

What, really? I was sort of joking about that, Jon.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Sing-song)_ It’s only a suggestion!

**MARTIN**

Oh. Um, okay. May as well.

**ARCHIVIST**

Alright.

 _(Heavy sigh)_ It’s getting cold out. I’m going to go put on the fire.

**MARTIN**

Can’t. All plugged up, remember?

**ARCHIVIST**

What? No, it’s— oh, God, we forgot about the chimney.

**MARTIN**

Wait, wait— _what?!_

**ARCHIVIST**

I-I’ll get that taken care of now!

[MORE FRANTIC FOOTSTEPS, ALONG WITH THE SHIFTING OF FABRIC. A FEW SECONDS LATER, AND IT’S STOPPED. THE BUZZING PERSISTS.]

**MARTIN**

Why didn’t they come through there, if we forgot to plug it up?

**ARCHIVIST**

I-I-I don’t know, and I would really— _(a strained noise) really_ not like to think about it right now.

**MARTIN**

O-okay! It’s, it’s okay, just— come lay down here.

[MORE FOOTSTEPS, THEN THE _‘FWUMP’_ OF COUCH CUSHIONS.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Sorry…

**MARTIN**

Shh, shh. It’s alright.

[HE BREATHS DEEPLY THROUGH HIS NOSE. THE BUZZING DRONES ON IN THE BACKGROUND, CONSISTENT.]

 _(Quiet)_ It’s alright.

[CLICK]

* * *

[CLICK]

[SILENCE SAVE FOR THE BUZZING, UNTIL THE SUDDEN SLIGHTEST SHIFTING OF FABRIC.]

**MARTIN**

Am I even _allowed_ to write my own eulogy? It feels a bit self-centred, trying to write it about myself.

**ARCHIVIST**

I really don’t think so. Given the context, I doubt anyone would think to call you out for it.

**MARTIN**

Hmm.

You know, the main issue I’m having is that I really don’t know what I’d say.

**ARCHIVIST**

No? I figured you’ve been thinking about it for the past… however long it’s been. Hour?

**MARTIN**

I have been, but I really haven’t gotten anywhere. Truth is, I’ve not done anything remarkable in my lifetime.

[SHORT, DETERMINED FABRIC RUSTLE.]

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Fierce)_ That’s not true.

**MARTIN**

No, it, it is. I don’t think there’s anything _wrong_ about that…

**ARCHIVIST**

Well, there’s plenty else to talk about, anyway.

**MARTIN**

Like what?

**ARCHIVIST**

You know, it doesn’t have to be very grand. There are lots of people who haven’t hit explicit achievements in life, but there's still plenty to say for them.

**MARTIN**

_(Soft, intrigued)_ What do you mean?

**ARCHIVIST**

Honestly, Martin? I don’t think you need to have accomplished anything in particular to have had a good life. Martin, you are… _(fond chuckle)_ really something else.

**MARTIN**

Oh. Uh… sorry, I guess?

**ARCHIVIST**

No, no, it’s not— _(sigh)_ i-it’s a good thing. What I meant to say is… you have such a… positive impact on people. You care, so much, even when maybe… maybe some people don’t deserve that care in the slightest. You’re warm, friendly, determined, stubborn so much so it’s frankly very admirable, you—

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping, laughing softly)_ Jesus, Jon!

**ARCHIVIST**

I-it’s all true! It’s all there. I, I really wish you could see it. See what I do when I look at you, which, if it wasn’t clear enough already, is a truly incredible man. You inspire me to do better every day, Martin.

**MARTIN**

If you keep going on like that, you’re going to make me cry.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Smiling)_ Happy tears, I hope.

**MARTIN**

Of course, happy tears!

 _(Bashful)_ You really think all that about me?

**ARCHIVIST**

Oh, absolutely. I am in possession of a working mind, Martin.

**MARTIN**

I-I’m being serious.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Slow, deliberate)_ Yes. I know I’ve said it before, but why you decided to love me of all people is far beyond me.

**MARTIN**

_(Chiding)_ Jon…

**ARCHIVIST**

Shh. Take the compliment, Martin. My point is, you’re rather marvelous. I’m extremely lucky to have you, and… I love you. So much.

[FABRIC RUSTLES AS THEY EMBRACE.]

**MARTIN**

_(Wet)_ I… I love you, too, Jon.

 _(Amused huff)_ Well, would you look at that?

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A QUESTIONING NOISE.]

I think you’ve written my eulogy for me.

[THE ARCHIVIST LAUGHS.]

[CLICK]

* * *

[CLICK]

[PERSISTENT BUZZING.]  
[WHAT SOUNDS LIKE A CURTAIN BEING YANKED ACROSS A METAL POLE.]  
[THE ARCHIVIST GRIMACES AUDIBLY.]

**MARTIN**

Are they still out there?

**ARCHIVIST**

Unfortunately, yes, and it doesn’t look like they’re planning on leaving anytime soon.

**MARTIN**

God, how long has it been, anyway?

**ARCHIVIST**

Uh… the clock says it’s five-oh-three PM, so… two hours or so?

**MARTIN**

Really? _(Heh)_ It’s felt much longer than that.

[THE ARCHIVIST HUMS.]  
[FOOTSTEPS THUMPING CLOSER UNTIL THE COUCH’S SPRING SQUEAK.]  
[MARTIN SIGHS HEAVILY.]

Honestly, I kind of expected Helen to have shown up by this point.

[A FEW LONG, TENSE MOMENTS OF SILENCE.]

**ARCHIVIST**

You what?

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping, too fast)_ Nothing, it’s… nothing.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Determined)_ No, you— you said something about Helen…?

**MARTIN**

Uh, y-yeah. I, I mean, she, she has, you know, doors, and stuff, right?

**ARCHIVIST**

Well… yes, but I’m honestly surprised you’d volunteer to visit the distortion’s hallways again.

**MARTIN**

I… not really? But it’s much better than being eaten up in here, isn’t it?

**ARCHIVIST**

I, I guess, but— I just don’t understand why you’ve brought up— _her,_ of all people! Have you ever even met Helen before?

**MARTIN**

Does it matter?

**ARCHIVIST**

Maybe! Have you seen her since we’ve been here?

…

_Martin._

**MARTIN**

_(High, defensive)_ I didn’t say anything!

**ARCHIVIST**

You didn’t have to. Have you really seen her? She hasn’t, uh, done anything, or…

**MARTIN**

I’m fine, Jon, really! You have nothing to worry about!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Aggrieved)_ Why didn’t you tell me?

**MARTIN**

_(Heavy sigh)_ Look, it really wasn’t that big of a deal, alright? Nothing happened! And that was weeks and weeks ago, anyway.

**ARCHIVIST**

How long ago it happened doesn’t matter. What if she’s up to something? What if she has plans for you?

**MARTIN**

I really doubt that.

**ARCHIVIST**

Do you really? Explain it, then, how you can be so sure.

[MARTIN SCOFFS.]

Don’t look at me like that, I’m waiting for an answer.

**MARTIN**

You— Don’t you talk to me like that! It’s my own business, isn’t it?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Snapping)_ Not if it means you’re going to be in danger. Come on, Martin, we both saw how well it went the last time you tried to handle this kind of thing on your own.

[MARTIN GASPS.]

W, wait. No, I, I didn’t really mean—

**MARTIN**

_(Hurt)_ Jon.

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin, please! I’m worried, and, and I’m scared. I can’t lose you again. Let me help you when things like this happen!

…Look. I’m sorry I said that, I shouldn’t have, but I—

**MARTIN**

_(Overlapping)_ No, you really shouldn’t have. We’ve already gone over that.

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin—

**MARTIN**

_No,_ Jon, I can’t— I can't do this again, okay? Not right now.

[MARTIN HUFFS ANGRILY.]

 _(With newfound vitriol)_ If you really want answers _so badly,_ why not just find out? Poke around in my head and see for yourself.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Distressed)_ I told you I wouldn’t do that.

**MARTIN**

Oh, sure, but what does it matter what _I_ want right now? You need _answers,_ don’t you? It’s what you’re meant to _do_ now, isn’t it?

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A PAINED SOUND.]

**ARCHIVIST**

Martin, _please._

**MARTIN**

G-go right ahead, then! Don’t let me stop you! We’re gonna die soon, anyway, so to hell with it!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Tearful)_ I, I-I don’t _want_ to!

**MARTIN**

Ugh, when has what we _want_ even mattered, anyway?! We chose to save each other, we made it all the way out here, and we’ve been living in ~domestic bliss~ for months now, but of course it had to come back to _this_ one way or another. Face it, Jon. We can’t just keep running!

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Mildly horrified)_ I, I can’t do it.

**MARTIN**

Yes you can! I _know_ you can! S-so just suck it up and, and…

…Wait, really?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Wavering)_ I, I-I’m trying to See you — not on purpose, God no, you know it just happens, sometimes — but it, it’s not… i-it’s not working at all.

**MARTIN**

Y—

[SUDDEN MOVEMENT, CREAKING OF THE COUCH.]

You can’t See at all?! Wow, that’s— that’s fantastic!

**ARCHIVIST**

No, no… if, i-if I try, I can see… most things. But for whatever reason, when it comes to Knowing almost anything about you… it just doesn’t work.

**MARTIN**

Why me, specifically?

**ARCHIVIST**

I, I don’t—

[HE MAKES AN AGONIZED SOUND.]

 _Agh!_ I don’t know! Trying to look at it, to figure out _why,_ it— it hurts. It’s not… _quite_ like when I tried to Know about Lukas’ plans, that was sharp and cutting. This feels… like I’m all gummed up, and I can’t— I can’t _move._

**MARTIN**

Wow. That’s…

**ARCHIVIST**

I-it doesn’t make any sense. Best I can guess, I was able to build up some sort of… mental block to keep myself from Knowing things about you? I can’t think of any other explanation…

**MARTIN**

It doesn’t work on me… even if you do try to Know deliberately?

**ARCHIVIST**

I-I wouldn’t do that, I really don’t want to. But from what I can tell? I… guess not, no. Not like I’d particularly _want_ to find out, anyway.

[THEY SIT IN QUIET FOR A FEW MOMENTS.]  
[MARTIN HUMS.]

**MARTIN**

To be clear, I’m still mad at you.

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Diplomatic)_ Understandable. I’m mad at you, too.

**MARTIN**

_(Sad sigh)_ Yeah, fair.

[THEY SIT IN SILENCE FOR A FEW MORE MOMENTS.]

So… now what should we—

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Interrupting)_ Wait. Did you hear that?

**MARTIN**

What, hear what?

[YES; FAINTLY, UNDERNEATH THE TERMITES’ BUZZING, A CAR ENGINE RUNS AND THEN PUTTERS OFF.]

Oh, God! Who _is_ that?

**ARCHIVIST**

_(Excited)_ I think it’s the ECDC!

**MARTIN**

What?!

[FOOTSTEPS HURRY TO THE WINDOW, AND THE CURTAIN IS FLUNG OPEN AGAIN.]

I can’t see past all the termites!

**ARCHIVIST**

I can See them outside, it’s definitely them.

[A SECOND PAIR OF FOOTSTEPS HURRIES AROUND.]

Come on, we should go lie down and wait.

**MARTIN**

B-but what about—

**ARCHIVIST**

Shh. Trust me, I think… I think we’re actually going to be alright.

[TAPE CLICKS OFF.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs:  
> \+ Corruption content (SFX, they talk about the size of the bugs, Martin recalls past experiences with Prentiss)  
> \+ Panic (a little bit for both of them)  
> \+ Argument (both of them say some shitty things :[)
> 
> I think I'm going to give up on the backlog thing because I am just too impatient. I have a lot of plans for the next chapter and it might end up being the longest chapter yet. I haven't actually started writing yet, but I do have a detailed outline for it laid down, so it's better than nothing, I guess!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at @amp_rs_nd on Instagram and Twitter :]


End file.
